The Road Less Traveled
by Kully
Summary: This is a what-if story surrounding Braska's Pilgramage. I wanted to change a single point in the journey and watch the ripples of change through to the events of Final Fantasy X. What if Braska chose Auron for his final aeon? Please read and review. New chapter posed. More to come.
1. Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION:  
This is a what-if story. At a critical part in the story a complete departure from the original source material will occur. I wanted to be up front with this from the start. I wanted to explore the Pilgrimage of Braska from inside the heads of the three men who completed it. And, I wondered what would happen to the story if Braska had chosen Auron for his Final Aeon. What would happen? How would that change the story of Final fantasy X?  
So, dear readers, if you would walk with me a bit down the pilgrimage road and allow me the joy of playing with our beloved characters once again I hope to not disappoint.  
For those that want to see my early work, look up my previous account DeGonGin.

SOUNDTRACK: (This is the music that inspired / played as a soundtrack for this piece. Check them out!)

"Opaque" – Amethystium :Odonata  
"Enchantment" – Amethystium :Odonata  
"I Am" – Blueston: Breathe  
"Adrift" –Bluestone: Worlds Apart Remixed  
"Worlds Apart" – Blueston: Worlds Apart Remixed  
"Runaway"-Linkin Park: Hybrid Theory  
"In the End"-Linkin Park: Hybrid Theory

DISCLAIMER:  
All rights to the places, events replayed from the game and the characters used belong to Squaresoft. (Square ENIX)

The Road Less Traveled

Chapter 1:

Auron was, for perhaps the first time in his life, full of conflict. His eyes looked out over the balcony of the temple, unseeing the beauty of the sunset. His thoughts swirling with fear, rage, and confusion. He was alone in a hoard of holy people, grasping at the railing with both hands as if the temple of St. Bevelle was a ship tossed in an angry sea. Acolytes scurried past the tortured man, most giving him a wide berth with a glace of nervous fear. A pair of Warrior-Monks, geared and heading out for patrol, stared at him. One held a frown, the other an embarrassed look, his eyes sliding away. A priest, wearing the robes of office, tisked to himself as he passed the distressed young man.

"Do you have no shame?" the Yevonite asked as he walked hurriedly by. "Just go."

He ran his right hand through his black hair and closed his brown eyes as he tried to find his center, His inner balance lost as he looked at the bleak options left him. His right shoulder felt exposed without the familiar weight of his Katana and he felt his left hand drift to his belt. A coin purse casually stuffed there making little sound as the meager contents shifted.

"Where do I go now?" he asked himself. "It's not like I have a home anymore." He sighed heavily. His face, usually so stoic, was awash with emotion. He stood and looked down at himself, it was time to take inventory. A black sleeveless shirt, black paints with a single blue stripe along each outer cuff, black boots with metal spats, 17 gill in his coin purse, and a large, red-lined coat with blue trim. He shook his head, exiling him from his brothers was like a kick in the stomach, taking his favored blade… they may as well have slit his throat right there. He snorted at himself. With a sigh, he turned away from the deepening evening view and slowly walked out of the temple for the last time.

Auron wandered the streets of Bevelle, he looked at the city, the bright shops, and the open parks filled with laughing children. He had given his entire life to the order, and he had thrived. Though not required, he had followed the strictest of precepts of the Order. Exercise, good solid food and discipline had sculpted a trim, muscled body and genetics had handed him a tall 6 foot frame. His hands showed the calluses of an active life, and his face showed little of his experience.

He found himself drawn to the sounds of laughter and clicking glasses, he had stopped in front of a sake bar. Auron knew he should be looking for somewhere to sleep this first night of freedom, but he could find nothing to stop him. He just didn't care anymore and his soul was broken, he needed medicine. With a grimace he walked into the shop and settled on a stool near the back of the long bar. He looked about and saw a display of large white clay jugs. When the bartender made his way down to the young man, Auron ordered one of them.

The bartender smiled, "Haven't seen you before, friend. What kind of poison do you want that filled with?"

Auron looked at the man, "Whatever will get me to a state of oblivion the quickest."

"Ah!" he smiled even deeper, "You don't want something refined, heh?"

"No. Nothing refined. Just what everyone uses to take their mind off their troubles. Fill it up. I have a lot of troubles that need drowning."

The bartender reached behind the bar and pulled the large white jar up to the counter. "This thing can hold quite a bit, y'know?"

"Good."

The bartender just grinned and grabbed a black grease pen. With the flowing script of Spiran he wrote the word "Nog" on the side and slid the tokkuri down to his apprentice. The young boy started carefully filling the jug as the bartender turned back to Auron.

"So, friend, want to talk about it?" he gestured to the rest of the nearly empty shop, "I got very little to do at the moment."

"Ah, no." Auron shook his head, "I think I'll just enjoy my drink in private, thank you." His baritone voice quieter than usual as he struggled with his racing mind. He gladly took the now full tokkuri and a glass moving to a darker corner of the shop. The first taste was foul, burning and bitter. He stared at the glass and frowned. "People actually LIKE this?" He shrugged and downed the entire glass, gulping it so he did not taste it. When he finished he sat back and looked over the shop, his mind slowly succumbing to the alcohol. The second and third glasses went just as quickly as Auron found he could forget how bad things were.

The bartender watched the young man as he hit the drink pretty hard, obviously his first time from the range of expressions on his open face. He shook his head and went back to wiping the bar.

* * *

The small dingy bobbed at anchor in the slowly rolling waters off the coast of Zanarkand. The futuristic city far enough away that it was more a model than the actual city. Inside the little boat there sat an athletic, black haired man, clad in an outfit of black and orange. A bright red headband circled low on his brow as he stared off into the distance. His face was weathered, the nose had seen its fair share of blunt force trauma. His full lips smiled as he looked out at his home, the city of Zanarkand gave him all the accolades of a prince.

Jecht stretched as he dug into the pack beside him, pushing the health drink and sandwich his wife had thoughtfully placed in the ice with a grunt, he settled on the beer underneath it all. With a small smile he popped the tab. The familiar POP-FIZZZZ made his smile grow into the self-satisfied grin that usually ruled his tanned face. Red eyes scanned the ocean during the time it took for him to finish his can. With his ritual complete, he grabbed the blue and white knobbed sphere that had settled in the prow of the little rowboat and dived off the side.

Under the water, Jecht was a master. He had trained so long in the water he could hold his breath for quite a while, even under activity. He practiced his kicking, sending the ball far out to sea and then timing himself as he sped through the water to where he had placed it. Swimming back toward the white boat to start all over again with a fresh can of beer.

The forecast for today had been clear skies and calm seas. So, it was with a bit of irritation that Jecht surfaced to a cloudy sky. He swam quickly back to the dingy and climbed aboard. Shaking the excess water off his face he searched around the little boat for his radio. Empty cans tossed this way and that until he found it, nestled against the rudder so that it would be easily found.

"Humph", he wordlessly picked up the device and tuned it for the houseboat. He nearly dropped the darn thing as the dingy began to swing to and fro. Cans underfoot, he more threw himself back to the middle of the white row boat instead of moving with the usual self-assurance that he maintained. He frowned as he took another look around, the sea was getting really rough, bobbing the dingy and splashing him with more sea spray.

He thumbed the talk switch, "Hey! Wha's wi' the weather?" He listened for a reply as the water continued to swamp the little boat. Cans surrounded the blitzball as it bobbed a bit away from the dancing dingy. "Hey!" To the port, a large swelling of dark water rose quickly as the sky broke open, dousing the veteran athlete. He waved at the monstrous swell, "NO! Not now! Back off!" he commanded the sea threatening to push his small boat into the depths.

The sea, or rather what was in the sea, ignored his commands. The large nearly black waters rose to great heights above the small white boat. Jecht grabbed the sides of his craft and held on for dear life. The water broke and a great gray beast rose towering over the man. "Oh…sh-aaaaAAAAAH!" He yelled, words dropping into a scream as the rolling water threw the dingy up and crashing into the …flying whale?

Powerful waves slammed the man hard into the gray side of the beast. Jecht lost his air, and his consciousness at about the same time. The howling sounds of sirens and the soft moaning of pyreflies filling his ears, blocking the last of his scream.

* * *

Deep in the archives of the Temple, far from the streets of Bevelle, sat a quiet man. Bent over the scrolls and books before him on the table, he sighed and brushed aside his blue-gray locks. Distractedly he pulled the red ribbon from the back of his neck that had failed to hold back his long hair. He stretched and sat up straight, taking the opportunity to gather it all up and restrain it back into its utilitarian pony tail. Bright blue eyes looked over all the writing and a small frown graced his lips. The man was dressed as a white mage, flower petal robes in shades of red and purple covered his frame. Delicate hands, scholar's hands with smudges of ink, picked at the scroll he had opened to study. Beside him was an intricate helm, made of silver with a long feather of metal that flowed along the same line as his spine when worn.

He sighed and closed up the materials he was working with, placing them at the end of the table for an acolyte of the temple to replace in the stacks. He shook his head as he glanced at the windows, seeing that the evening was rapidly approaching. He snagged his helmet, tucking it under an arm so as to not cause destruction with its flamboyant metal tail, and headed out of the Temple of St. Bevelle. Popping on the helmet, he passed quickly through the city, stopping at a grocer for a loaf of fresh bread and some vegetables for dinner. He nodded at a few others that also seemed to be on the trail for home, a calm smile on his face. The others that knew him waved or smiled back, sad to see that the smile rarely reached his eyes anymore.

Carrying the bag with his provisions, he quickly passed by the market district and into the quiet residential blocks where his small house sat. He waved at a neighbor as he turned into the tidy front yard. He stopped near the door, a young hand wielding a few different colors of chalk had artistically graced his walkway. Bright yellow chocobos paraded past red and blue flowers with an equally bright yellow sun smiling down at them. Among the child crafted scene stood a family of three, a priest in red robes holding the hands of a little girl in a white dress and a woman in a yellow jumpsuit. To the side, in the grass was a stuffed animal, the very model for the bright yellow chocobos. He smiled and gathered up the abandoned toy. He shouldered open the door, as his hands had reached maximum capacity, and called out to the house.

"Yuna! You left Mr. Feathers out in the yard again!" His voice was a calm and smooth tenor, not angry, more faintly amused. "If you keep doing that, you are going to have to study Cure so you can heal the cold he is going to get."

A small girl, dressed in a little white and blue dress looked up from her place on the couch. Her face blossomed into a full smile as she jumped up, "Daddy! Did you see my picture I made for you?" She clasped her hands together in front of her, joy at seeing her father lighting up her eyes.

"Yes, I did! What a nice picture. Where did you put us today, my dear?" He answered as he kicked the door shut behind him and moved to the kitchen. He set the groceries down on the table, turned back and looked at his daughter, absently cradling the stuffed chocobo in his hands.

"Um…" her smile slipped, "I missed Mommy so…" She shrugged. "I 'magined her with us again."

He smiled at his daughter, deeper than before, "How wonderful!" his voice betrayed nothing of the stabbing loss that struck his gut. "I miss her too, you know." He looked about the room, "Where is Gemma?" He asked, not seeing the housekeeper.

"She is out back, getting herbs for dinner. I wanted to wait for you here, so I did." Yuna gestured to the back of the house and then to the couch, a few picture books scattered on the cushions.

It was then the older woman bustled in, white hair in a bun and a bright green apron over her simple brown dress. She held the bottom of her apron up to form a pocket for the fresh herbs gathered there. "Welcome back, Mr. Braska." Her voice was deep and pleasant, a woman in her later years, working to maintain a house for the widower after her children had left and her husband had passed. She looked at Yuna, "Get your hands under some running water, little one. I'll have dinner ready in the time it takes a dog to wag its tail." She headed straight to the kitchen and looked into the bag, "Ah, you remembered!" She smiled as she got to work chopping up the vegetables.

Yuna nodded to the woman and then looked at her father. His smile was still there, just the same, she noticed, it hadn't traveled to his tired blue eyes. She ran over and threw a hug around his waist. She sighed as he leaned down, holding her with his arms in a warm embrace. He copied her sigh and straightened up breaking the hug. With a gentle push he sent her down the hallway to the washroom. He turned back to the kitchen, his free hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose and setting the yellow chocobo toy on the table next to Yuna's chair.

"If you don't mind me saying so, sir. You look a little rough, get a bit more done in the archives?" the housekeeper made conversation as she stood stir frying the vegetables in a skillet over the hearth.

Braska nodded as he set his ridiculous helmet on its stand and walked over to the doorway, pulling off the red robes and hanging them on a peg revealing a simple outfit beneath of a white cotton shirt tucked into a pair of gray pants. He stretched and rubbed his shoulders. "I have the last bits down. And I feel that I have the stances and steps memorized. Now I just have to work on the actual casting." He frowned. "It's not at all like white magic, or black magic even. No words, just movement, focus and redirection of energies. I must say, it's quite different from what I expected."

Gemma nodded and pulled the skillet out of the fire. She moved back to the table and placed the freshly cooked herbs and veggies on the plates, placed the bread with a pat of butter in the center of the table and scuttled off to the cold bin for juice and water. Yuna walked back from the washroom, holding her hands out to the woman as she passed for inspection. The housekeeper nodded and pointed with her chin to the table, Braska had already moved to his seat at the head and waited for his daughter there.

The three settled down to the simple meal, conversation flowing as Yuna reported her day to her father and asked about his own studies. The fourth place at the table had a dish set, chopsticks carefully resting on their own stand, empty cup and an empty chair waiting for a person that would never return.

* * *

Auron felt more than heard the bartender calling him. He blearily looked around. The tokkuri in his hand nearly empty and his glass smashed on the floor nearby.

"Wha?" his voice wouldn't work, how irritating. He tried again, "What do you need?" he smiled, there, clear understandable spiran.

"Your bill? You have the gil for all this?" The bartender waved his hands in a grand gesture, taking in the broken chairs, damaged tables and smashed glass that was the sake shop. He glared at the young man. Auron seemed completely oblivious to the bruises, cuts and broken lip. O r that he is sitting in a sea of destruction. "You challenged those Temple guards! You broke three of them on MY Tables! YOU BROKE THE BACKBAR MIRROR!" the normally mild mannered man marched up to the sitting ex-monk, finger stabbing at every mentioned item and coming to rest on Auron's chest. "You had BETTER find some money, buster, or I call more guards. And THIS time I'll make SURE there is enough to stop you!"

"No whay!" was the slurred response from the young man, "I d'all THISH!?" he started to chuckle. "ON TEMPLE GUARDSH?" His chuckles grew into a laugh, the booze talking, not the man. "WOW!" he exclaimed. He laughed deeply, his head falling to land face first on the sake splattered table before him. He spent a good long time before he controlled himself enough to continue.

He looked up at the bartender, eyes bloodshot, one partially swollen shut. "Boy, are you gonna be mad." He dropped his coin purse on the table, its soft clink not very encouraging. "I'm BROKE!" He fell forward laughter bubbling up again, clutching his stomach with one hand and the tokkuri with the other. "I've got nothing! No hope, no future. Go ahead, call the guards, and make damn shure that they are gonna be enough. Tell 'em to bring all the weaponsh they wanta. Give me one last good fight."

The bartender blinked, his sails deflated as the drunken young man spelled out the whole picture. Insolvent, drunk, and with nothing to lose, Auron was his worst nightmare. Even completely drunk, he was more than an even match to four Temple Guards, bare handed. He shook his head, and decided on the better part of valor. "Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Bar!" he enunciated every word clearly and with malice. "And don't you EVER come with in a 100 feet of my doors or so help me, Yevon, I will call the guard!"

Auron, mostly on autopilot at this point, sighed and got up. "Fine. I'ma takin' the tok- tuk- takka- JAR! Itsh mine! I won it in BATTLE!" He stumbled out of the shop. The former patrons, an unwilling audience to the guards' vs Auron "fight-to-the-coma", moved far away from the red coated drunk. Many waved away the strong smell of alcohol that wafted around him or whispered at each other as he passed. If no-one knew who Auron the disgraced Ex-Warrior-Monk was, the denizens of the lower levels of Bevelle knew quite well who he was now.

The night swallowed him up as he wobbled down the street, he was humming to himself. It was the Hymn of the Fayth. His voice was rough, but the tune was still recognizable. He didn't know where he was going, but the pleasant buzz in his head allowed him to not really care. Oh, Yevon! This was nice! No wonder so many of his brothers spoke so highly of this vice. He was a fool to have held so strictly to the precepts!

He passed the end of the market district and found himself deep in the residential area on the lower level. He looked at all the little homes. Decent families asleep at this dark hour. He looked at each one, pausing where he could find a place to lean. He looked over the pleasant doors and the carefully trimmed bushes. Tears trailed unfelt down his face as he wondered what his life would have been if he had not been left at the Temple. He shook his head and took another drink. Ah yes, goodbye dark thought, hello oblivion.

It was dark, a sliver of a moon showing in the sky, when Auron found his tokkuri was drained of the last of the sake. He stumbled. It was a testament to his superior health that he was not passed out yet, but it was coming. He felt lightheaded, a comfortable numbness in his legs and brain. He found a peaceful home, with an overhang over the door and some colorful scribbles on the walkway. Surrounded by hedges that marked a small grassy yard. He fell as he tried to turn to move into that yard, muffled chuckles were given to the ground as he slowly levered his way back up. Giving up the thought of upright movement he crawled his way to the door, and leaned against the hard, cool wood. His brain was on fire, the potent liquid having moved from buzz, through drunk and into near poisoning. He curled up around his precious clay jar and slipped away into the darkness of the quiet night.

* * *

Jecht woke in the water, he looked around with surprise, the water was…wrong. Colder, denser, if flowed with a different kind of weight. He was floating on his back, on the surface. "Weird." He said to the sky, there was no one else around him to say it to. "Shouldn't be floatin' up here." He pushed against the water. It gave, just not as easy as the waters around Zanarkand. "OH CRAP! " He yelled and looked around frantically. "Where the hell am I?" he found no bearings, no large city, and no boat… not even a can of beer. He heard the familiar call of a seagull and searched the sky frantically. He spotted the flying gray bird heading away from him. Taking that as a clue of where to look, he focused on that part of the horizon. Far away, he could make out the dark smudge of something. Whatever it was, it was land. He had to get out of the water, and find some help back to Zanarkand. That … THING… could have moved on to his city, his home! He had to warn someone, get his family to safety.

He started to swim, man, what a workout. The water was thicker here, it made swimming harder than at home. He pushed, using a steady rhythm to eat up the distance he had to move through. The land that was his target getting clear as he put in more effort toward it. It was not Zanarkand that was for sure. A harbor wall made of stone and mortar blocked off the small cove where the docks of a fairly large town stood. He could feel his resources draining a lot faster than they should. He was getting out of shape. He would start teaching his boy as soon as he got passage back! That would work off these weak muscles.  
Soon, he passed the harbor wall, the water becoming easier to get through, now that the deep weight of the ocean was gone. He stopped and treaded water for a long moment. With his mouth hanging open he looked at the tall wooden ships at dock. Paddle wheels mounted on the sides, but no place for any engine, flat decks and no railings to speak of. The draft was all wrong, flat, they must ride the water like a bucket! He watched as the seagulls flew about the stunted masts and un-furled sails. He shrugged and set about getting to land.

Few more minutes power swimming and he found his feet on dry land. He walked up a little on the beach near the docks and settled on the ground, panting. He kneeled there, on unfamiliar sand and just looked. There was not a single sign of power here. Everything was lit with fire, gas lamps or open flame. Tough sea grass lined the beach, leading to more solid ground covered in trees and bushes. Unless this was a seaside park he had never heard of, he was nowhere near Zanarkand. It was like time had spun backwards, he shook his head. Couldn't be possible! He was just shaken up by that near death collision! That must be it!

He started to shiver at that point. He was bare chested and barefoot. He started to feel the cold. It was WAY colder here, that explained the water. He sat up and then stood, holding his arms close around his chest and stamping his feet. He moved along the beach toward the docks.

"HEY!" he waved at the ships, the men moving cargo from the dock to the ships and back. "HEY! Can one of ya get me back to Zanarkand?" he growled loudly at them. They all froze and turned to look at this strangely dressed stranger, shivering on the beach. One, a boson of the largest ship, gestured to his men to get back to work and headed down to see what was wrong with this person.

"Aya! What can I do fer you?" he asked as he approached this stranger. His hand was on his knife, even with a smile on his face. This could be an Al-Bhed trick, or some crazy old sailor. Thieves had been known to act the lost fool to get aboard a well-stocked ship.

"Yeah, I'm lost." Jecht rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he could never quite break, "I was scooped up by this large gray thing an' I ended up here! You wouldn't be settin' sail for Zanarkand would ya? I can cover your expenses when I get back there." He smiled as charismatically as he could even as he shook with the cold.

The boson grunted, "Yeah… no. We ain't sailing anywhere NEAR the sacred city." He squinted at Jecht, looking him up and down. "We ain't got any room for layabouts or freeloaders either. You best be wandering off." He made a sweeping gesture at the shivering man's direction.

"Really? You don't have room for the Great Jecht? You can't be so far out that you haven't heard of the Star of the Zanarkand Abes!?" Jecht was flummoxed. Just where the hell did that thing drop me?

The sailor shook his head and laughed. "Um…nope. Haven't said I have heard of the 'Great Jecht'. So move on, crazy man. We don't need the likes o' you."

Jecht looked just as surprised as he felt…never heard of…."Now just wait a stupid minute here! Just how far out AM I from Zanarkand!?" He put his hands on his hips and glared at the boson as he turned to walk back to his men and his ship. The man ignored Jecht. This set the blitzballer off, his temper slipping loose, he called the departing man every name in the book. It wasn't long before the guards watching the docks wandered over and observed him make an obvious fool of himself.

The lead guard nodded to his partner and they apprehended the cold, angry and tired man. "Looks like you've had just a little too much to drink tonight, my friend. Let's get you into the warmth of a cell so you can sleep it off, eh?" Jecht exploded, punching the junior of the two with a huge roundhouse and planting a decent kick into the man's side. He was incoherent with rage, and the guards had volunteered to be his outlet. The senior guard solved the problem with a swift strike to the back of the blitzballer's head. Jecht fell, mid rant, out like a light.

The junior guard sat up rubbing his face and holding his side. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that guy needs to apply for the Warrior-Monks! He hits like a ton of bricks!"

The other guard chuckled, "Well, I guess you were right, we should have just knocked him out from the start." He shrugged as he reached down and grabbed the large man's shoulders. "You get his feet, since you've already met them." He said with a smile. "We should call the Temple Guards. He needs to be put in the stockade at the Temple. He's too powerful for our little jail."

"Humph" grunted the younger of the two as he picked up the downed man's feet.

* * *

The housekeeper had left after putting away the dishes from the simple meal. Braska settled down with Yuna and a good story book. With his soft voice he read the story of Yunalesca and Zaon, the first High Summoner. She loved the story, not only because she knew her father was studying to become a summoner himself, but because it had kissing and a dashing young heroine. She settled to bed as he put the story book back on the little bookshelf he had made for her next to her nightstand. She looked at him with a smile as he turned back and kissed her forehead.

"Good night, little bird." He said with a smile, placing Mr. Feathers, the stuffed chocobo, on the blanket next to her. "Sweet dreams."

"Night,night, Daddy." Yuna replied around a yawn fit to take the top of her head off. He smiled and headed for the sanctuary of his comfortable chair. He noticed a kettle of water over the hearth fire, left by Gemma before she headed out and he grabbed a cup for tea. He set the brew at the bottom of his mug, added the water and brought the steaming drink on the stand next to the chair. He pulled a large book from the shelf, "The history of Summoning". He tossed that into the chair as well and then set about closing windows, locking doors and generally closing up the house for the night.

House secure, he settled into his chair, book in hand and tea cooling beside him. He enjoyed the quiet of the house at night, humming to himself as he read.  
Baska slowly awoke with a heavy presence on his face. He reached up and felt the book he had been reading just a few minutes ago now hanging open on his nose. He grunted and stretched, grabbing the fairly heavy tome and placing it closed on the table next to his stone cold tea. He felt terrible. Sighing he looked around, another night in the chair. It just seemed to happen more and more, he just couldn't face the night alone in the bed he had shared for so long.  
A soft cooing sound turned his focus away from his muscle sore state. He sat forward, leaning against something that resisted his movement. He realized his daughters blanket was tucked around him, she had awoken to find him here. Dear sweet child, she had covered him up. He looked around the living room and saw that the front door was completely open. With a frown, he pushed the blanket off his chest and flipped it over his shoulder, the pink highlighted by his white shirt. He walked curiously over to the doorway and moved to stand in the entrance to his home.

He looked down and saw a sight that both angered and saddened him. He looked over the scene his frown deepening. Yuna, her innocent face full of concern, was carefully placing her other blanket over a passed out man in his doorway. The smell of stale sake and the sickness of overindulgence reeking from the drab red coat the man had wrapped himself in. She was speaking quietly to him, "Be quiet, or you'll wake daddy. Please, mister red coat man, I know you are sick. As soon as daddy is awake I'll get him for you."

"Yuna!" Braska hissed, grabbing her by the arm, "Get away from that man." He pulled his precious daughter behind his back and patted her on the head. "This is very sweet of you, my dear. But, this man is very…sick. And he may hurt you." With a continued frown, he gently nudged the bundle of drunk with his slipper covered foot.

Yuna tugged on her father's shirt, "But daddy! He's from the Temple! See? He said his name is Auron. And he's very sorry he's sick on our porch. He was so cold, he shivered so! I got my other blankie and made him warm. Can you cast a spell to heal him?"

Braska looked over the man lying on his doorstep, curled around some sort of alcohol jug. The man was wearing the basic bits of a Warrior-Monk's uniform. He was unarmed, and very much disheveled. He rubbed his hand along his chin in thought. It was just strange, why would a Warrior-Monk of Bevelle be drunkenly passed out on HIS doorway? What had convinced this man to stumble here? With a sigh, he realized Yuna would be crushed if he did nothing, and she'd be right. He was a priest of Yevon, meant to bring solace to the people of Spira. And, if things were in his favor, this may be a hidden gift from the Fayth.  
He turned to his little girl, "Yuna, go to your room, and close the door. Keep it closed until I tell you it is safe. I don't think this man would knowingly hurt you, but we don't know who he is. Do you understand?" he smiled at her as he motioned to her room.

Yuna nodded sagely and with the wisdom of the innocent said, "I think he's OK. I just think he's broken somehow. Maybe you can … heal him like you do at the temple?" She turned, taking the pink blanket from her father's shoulder and flounced into her bedroom, closing the door with an audible click.  
Braska turned back to the problem on his doorstep, reaching down, he could really smell the rice wine saturating the man's clothing. "Broken … more like Drunk." He shook his head and reached for the man, intending to pull him in by the shoulders. As Braska gripped the coat Auron wore by the blue trim. The man's eyes shot open, he looked around and then landed on the frowning face of the owner of the house where he had finally collapsed. Wordlessly, he tried to back up, mumbling apologies he nearly pulled Braska off his feet.

"Wait, wait…don't move….oh Yevon!" Auron rolled to his hands and knees, the first of many cleansing stomach heaves leaving him shaking in the yard. At least he had aimed for the grass. With blood shot eyes he looked up. His complexion pale, almost green and bright red on the very edges of his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, sir. Please, I'll leave."

Braska kneeled down, shaking his head. "I don't know who you are. But it is obvious you aren't going anywhere for a while. Let me help? I am Braska, my child is Yuna. And you told her you name is Auron?" He held out a steady hand to the man.

"Yes … Auron." He looked at Braska, the gears of his tortured mind grinding, "You're Priest Brasksa! The priest that married an Al-Bhed! "He closed his eyes. "Sorry", he mumbled, "Not at my best right now." He took the hand offered and allowed the smaller man to support him as he stumbled into the house. Braska guided him to the couch, and laid him down. The Priest then walked to the back of the house, checking on Yuna's door to make sure it was still closed. He pulled a few pillows and bedding from the hall closet. The priest returned to the stranger on his couch and set up the pillows and bedding to make him more comfortable.

"I would cast some Healing spells on you, but we both know that won't help." He looked the young man over. The monk was in good shape, except for the mother of all hangovers. He took the tokkuri away and set it to the side. Next, he gathered up a wastebasket and placed it within reach. Finally, he moved to remove the red coat, it was filthy, stained with sake and dirt, bloody and torn. The man's face was bruised, the right eye had taken a good hit. It would develop into a shiner that would linger. Auron's hands had the scrapes and cuts that spoke of being used in a fist fight. "I hope you look better than the other guy."

"Guys…four….guards." Auron mumbled, his eyes drifted closed. "Thank you." He levered himself up to help Braska take his jacket and lifted his feet so it was easier to get the boots. The rest would come off later when he could perhaps use this gracious man's shower. He felt another wave of nausea heading his way and he scrambled to grab at the wastebasket.

Braska sighed and walked over to the kitchen, he found that his kettle had been refilled and set on a fire. With an arched eyebrow he glanced at the hallway, just in time to see his daughter's door close shut. He shook his head, she was too good by half. And in a lot of trouble once his patient was rested up. He took some pleasure in watching Auron's face grimace in pain as the piercing shriek of the kettle's whistle was allowed to sing for just a little bit longer than usual. Braska was not one to let a lesson pass by unheeded.

* * *

Jecht woke up flat on his back, cold and sore in a stone block cell. He got up and walked it to make sure…yep, ten by ten. Perfect. He looked out past the solid iron bars that made his new home. He shook the door, testing it, good strong construction. He was going no-where. He held his head, man what he wouldn't do for some beer, something to get the dog that bit him. He watched as the prison guard made his rounds, and sat on the hard wooden shelf that served as his bed. Nothing to do but wait. This was not his first round in the pokey, the Great Jecht had some wild parties in his past. No big deal.

Later, a guard brought him a tray of food. Bread, jerky and water. Great, a puritan jail. He looked around, "Hey! Can I please have something for my head?" he asked.

The guard, smiling, nodded, "Sure." He walked over and handed Jecht more water. "Best thing for a hangover."

"Great, just freaking great. A comedian." He gulped down the first glass of water and sat in grumpy silence, eating his prison meal.

Time passes slowly when you have nothing to do, Jecht counted orange colored clothing as passersby strolled on parade past his cell. Interesting that the jail was open to the public. Nothing like shame to cure what ails the common drunk. Unfortunately for Jecht, he was, admittedly different from the last few times, not drunk. Lost, confused and getting pretty steamed, but not drunk.

Days passed, well, more like a day passed.

A guard walked up to the cell. Beside him was a smaller man, dressed in the kookiest set of robes Jecht had ever seen. Green leaf like sleeves bound by an orange wide belt and orange trim that flowed down to the ground, hiding his feet, even when he walked. The Guard pounded on the metal bars with his club. "Wake up, Prisoner. Your Priest is here to judge you."

Jecht stretched and walked up to the bars. "Judge me? Whaddid I do?" He rested his hands on the cross bars that sealed his cell.

The robed man bowed strangely at the prisoner behind the bars, hands forming a circle at the center of his stomach and bowing over them. "I am Priest Jarod. I was told by the two guards that brought you here that you were drunk in public, verbally assaulted honest sailors at the Bevelle docks, and physically assaulted a guard of the watch." He shook his head, "I hope that the day you have spent here has cleared your head enough for us to talk. These are pretty serious charges against you."

"Yeah, well, they would be serious if they were even close to the truth." Jecht growled.

The Priest nodded, used to hearing these words more often than not. "Go ahead, please tell me the real story then, prisoner."

Jecht spent more than an hour talking. Telling the story of how he reached the shores of Bevelle, how he just asked for help, and how the whole thing ran into chaos. When he spoke of Zanarkand the Priest shook his head, closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer. Priest Jarod sighed and turned to the guard. "It is obvious, he has been affected by Sin's toxin and it has driven him mad. He must have family somewhere. He has the look of the southern islands about him. See if anyone is willing to speak for him and take over his care. Until then, he should stay here, cared for as best as we can. May Yevon heal his broken mind." The priest bowed in his crazy manor and walking away. It was then Jecht finally recognized it as the victory sign for a Blitzball game.  
HEY! HEY, HEY, HEY! NO Way! Lemme out!" Jecht rattled the iron cage he was behind. His growling voice following the Priest and the guard walking away. "This is not… Get back here! You can't keep me locked up forever! HEY!"

* * *

Braska hurried his daughter while their guest laid dead to the world on his couch. "Get a few days' worth of clothing together, darling. Daddy needs to make sure our friend gets better and I do not want you to be nearby, but out of harm's way." He gestured to the little pink suitcase and then to her dresser.  
Yuna rolled her eyes, "Daddy! Auron won't hurt me." She said with all the confidence of a seven year old. She crossed her arms, "Besides, you're going away soon, so… I don't wanna leave!"

He looked at his little girl. "Now, I know I told you about that already. But you must not talk back. I want you to be with Gemma for a little while. You like her house." He glanced at the door and then turned his gaze back on his daughter.

"But, Daddy, we have so little time left. You just learned the Ritual of Sending, you said so at dinner! I don't want to miss a minute. And, I can help with Mr. Auron." She bit her lower lip as her little face turned serious. "You know I can. I'm a big girl now." She held herself, sniffing. Braska's heart simultaneously shattered and melted, he reached over the bed and drew his little girl to his chest. She burrowed in and held her father tightly. Wordlessly, he held her until his heartbeat returned to normal.

"Well, then. I guess we should look on our patient then, my little nurse." He took her onto his hip and walked out to the main living room. He set her down but motioned for her to stay back behind him. She nodded and then pointed at her pink blanket, fallen to the floor near where Auron rested. The man on the couch must have thrown it off in his sleep. She sighed for him, nightmares are scary and she bet someone who fell asleep on a stranger's porch would have some really bad ones. She walked over to it, picked it up and carefully placed it around the man's chest. It was just big enough so that his chest and stomach were covered. She tucked him in so he would be safe and warm, ignoring the fact that he was already covered in regular blankets. She rested a little hand on his forehead, just like Daddy did when she had a fever.

Auron slowly opened one eye, careful to look over to the father in the room without startling the little girl whose little hand rested coolly on his forehead. Braska frowned and slowly shook his head. With a slight smile, the Monk shut his eye and laid there quietly.

"I think he is getting better, Daddy." Yuna looked over the quiet Warrior-Monk, "I know just what he needs!" She ran back to her room for a moment and brought out a little stuffed moogle, pink pom-pom bouncing joyfully as she carefully placed it near his head.

"That's very nice, little one. Go sit down and work on your reading." She nodded and settled into her father's comfortable chair. She reached for the picture books that had been stacked by Gemma there for her. Braska walked over and settled next to the pink covered, moogle comforted man. A half smile played about his lips. "I think that this is an image I should hold for blackmail." He smiled. "I know you are awake….Auron?"

The man opened both eyes and realized his view was dominated by the pink bouncing fluff ball of the moogle doll. He focused at the man sitting next to him. "Yes, perhaps I deserve this treatment." He smiled softly and looked away, "Thank you for your kindness. I don't…usually…" he sighed.

"Well, you are not going anywhere for a little while." Braska stood up and walked into the Kitchen. He poured a fairly large glass of water and started the kettle for tea. As he walked back into the living room, he looked at his daughter. She had a very serious expression on her face, watching the warrior-monk on the couch behind her picture book. He stopped at Auron and handed the man the glass of water, stifling a chuckle as the young man struggled to free an arm from the tucked in blanket. With an embarrassed grimace passing for a smile, Auron reached up with his hand and took the water.

His head was tender, hot and he felt as if he needed to shave his teeth more than his chin. What had he been thinking? Oh right, he wasn't … and he was darn good at that too. He sipped the cool water, it seemed to help. "I have water on to boil for tea a little later," Braska continued," my wife…she had a remedy tea, I'll make it for you. It is a life saver and calms the racing nerves I am sure you have." Braska settled back on his haunches, bringing his gaze level with his patient. "Now, a man only gets that drunk once, or he is an idiot. Since the Warrior-Monks are renowned for their intelligence, I am going to assume that this was your one freebie." He held up a finger as he spoke, forestalling Auron as he opened his mouth to reply. "No, I'm not done." He clasped his hands together and rested his arms on his knees. "The payment for this treatment, my friend, is that you must divulge why you took to the bottle. There must be something wrong. Am I correct?"

Auron closed his mouth and pursed his lips, forming a straight, stubborn line. He shot a glance at the reading seven year old girl in the room, and then back to the father. He noted the red robes and metal helmet near the door as his eyes swept the living room. He sipped his water, delaying for what he hoped would be a moment's reprieve. It did not come, Braska's calm face didn't even twitch, except that his right eyebrow slowly rose the longer Auron waited. "Great," the young man thought, "The one place I decide to drunkenly fall down is the home of the ONE priest of Yevon that is both a caring man AND a father. I can't win, the Fayth have it in for me."

Braska cleared his throat, "Still waiting, young man."

Auron sighed, "Ok, ok." He took another sip of his water, gathering thoughts, "Yesterday, I was… with great ceremony and grandeur… drummed out of the Order of the Warrior-Monks. I was stripped of my armor, my weapons and my honor. I was handed a small purse with a few Gil and ushered out the door. My brothers, my command, and my Maester all turned their backs on me…" He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat, ripping it. He looked down at his hands, "I … broke. I have faced fiends single-handedly that had defeated entire teams of my brothers, dragged people from death and destruction, and lead 30 Warrior-Monks in battle against all forms of enemies. All with honor, dignity and strength. But this… hopelessness… it broke my very soul." He spoke quietly, almost meditatively, it felt good to let this out, to admit his failure, even to a priest of the church that abandoned him. "I had watched a few of my brothers sneak sake and whiskey into the barracks, loosing themselves in the drink. At the time, I scoffed at them, why loose that much control? Being brought up by the Monks, living my entire life with them, I choose to follow all their rules. It did me no good, one false priest and my world was shattered. So, I wandered Bevelle for the day, and ended up at a Sake Shop. I ordered that tokkuri over there, with the most potent stuff they had. I couldn't pay for it. I didn't care. The pain, I just wanted a break, to forget, to lose control." He shot another glance at the child, who had let the book slip and was watching, listening as he spoke.  
"Gemma," Braska called the housekeeper from where she was hovering in the hallway, "take Yuna to her room, please." Braska felt this was a bit too heavy for his only child to hear, and it would be easier for the young man to confess. Gemma walked in, took Yuna by the hand and tried to silently convey her worries to him with a significant glace at the strange man she had discovered on the couch this morning. At best, she hoped her kind master would understand that he didn't pay her enough if he was going to bring home drunks and reprobates into the house where his daughter lived. She led the child back into the hallway, the door once again closing audibly to the two men in the living room.

"Now, the shop?" Braska prompted.

Auron grimaced, but felt a little lighter. He was surprised that this simple act of confession, culpability, or guilt, call it what you will, was good for him. He sipped the last of his water and the tea kettle took that opportunity to begin whistling. Braska motioned for the man to continue, even as he rushed up to handle the preparation of the special "After Tea".

"So, I drank. At first I hated the taste. But, if I drank it fast, I didn't seem to taste it as much. And soon that swirling pit of pain… it just faded away. I don't remember much after the third glass. Other than I fought four Temple Guards. They with knives and I had my fists. And they got a few good hits in. I was stronger than I ever was before, but I was wild. I completely wrecked the bar. Yelling at the top of my lungs about the bastards of the Church." He watched as Braska added the steeper to a cup of hot water, setting up a second tea for himself.

Braska nodded, "Continue…"

"I was kicked out of the bar…In my defense, I did leave all 17 of my Gil behind. But I kept the jar, and I continued my wandering and drinking. Apparently, the nightlife left me to my own devices. I must have scared off most after putting four Guards into the healer's chambers. I could hear the talk, I was blind, stinking drunk not deaf. I heard what they called me, the blight of the Warrior-Monks, dark seed, wastrel, drunk, and worse. I deserved every bit of what I heard, and it just drove me deeper into the bottle. I walked away from the markets and into this place. Something called me, lead me here. I collapsed with the last of my drink on your door. As if I was meant to." He snorted, looking back at his empty hands. The bruises on his knuckles and the scrapes on his palms marking them with his shame. "Sounds stupid, right? But here I am. And I think you're the only person in the entirety of Spira that would not put my sorry butt right in the stockade." He glared at the white clay tokkuri. With a grunt he sat up. He paused, carefully folded the pink blanket and set it aside. "I'm surprised that thing isn't broken, the way I stumbled around carrying it all last night." Looks of rage and pain crossed his open face in equal measure, "I should smash that thing, or wear it around my neck to remind me of my folly." He seemed done, his hands clenched to his side. He let his breath out slowly, as if to control the wild emotions within.

Braska brought the young man his tea, allowing his own cup to steep on the floor nearby. "Well, I think they may have been someone guiding your feet last night." He held the cup to Auron and waited until the monk took it. "You seek purpose. The one thing that no-one was willing to grant to you." He looked over the young man, gesturing at the few bits of his uniform still there. "You were raised by the Warrior-monks?"

Auron nodded, sipping the hot tea and grimacing at the taste.

"And that is all you've ever known? The sword? The teachings? Fighting?" Braska motioned to stir the tea and try another sip.

Auron nodded again, stirring the tea and then tasting the honey that had sunk to the bottom.

"Ok. Some may say I am taking advantage of you, but, here it goes." The priest took up his own cup, "I am planning a pilgrimage, and, frankly I need Guardians. Men and women with experience on the road, good with weapons and willing to lay down their lives for a chance at defeating Sin." He looked over his steaming cup as he took a few sips, trying not to burn his tongue. "Would this serve as a high enough purpose for you?"

The young monk paused, letting the words sink in. He blinked, it was perfect. He had wanted to die, it was so painful to live with the stain of his failure on his conscience. He shifted his shoulders, feeling that burning rage and flailing helplessness dissolve in his chest. He nodded, and then frowned, "But, one problem. I trained in the sacred weapon of the Warrior-Monks, the katana. It is only issued to the order. None but they may wield such a weapon. I could make due with a regular sword, but it will take time to retrain my instincts. And … if I may ask… What of your daughter…and your wife? Most who have families do not leave on Pilgrimage, none have ever returned."

Braska smiled, it was as if he had watched this young bird take flight after finding his wings again. "Yuna is well informed, and understands what is about to happen. My wife", He paused. His face filled with sadness, his blue eyes turning dull, "She was killed by Sin on the open sea, trying to return to her tribal home. Gemma is my housekeeper, nanny and part time sanity." He blinked, "As to your weapon, why deny yourself your true sword? Am I not a Priest of Yevon? I'm sure that a spare katana can be," He gestured with his hands as if he was moving something from one side to the other, "re-allocated for such as cause as a Guardian-ship." He winked. "Besides, it's well known that the best Guardians to lead a pilgrimage are the Warrior-Monks of Bevelle. It was why your order was created in the first place."

Auron felt his heart start to beat again, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. A different kind of tension grew to replace the despair he had been feeling. His brown eyes sparkled at the plans and thoughts now circling in his mind. He looked upon Braska with new found respect and even admiration. This man's kindness and gentle nature just begged for you to like him. He brushed himself off, slowly stood and gestured for Braska to stand with him. Formally, he offered his right hand to Braska.

"Will you, Summoner Braska, take my strength and weapons for your protection as your Guardian?" He waited, knowing that this was the right thing to do.  
Braska blinked. He had gained this man's trust quickly and completely. If he was a lesser man, he would be pleased with the power he had over this strong and determined young man. Instead, in his mind, he praised the Fayth that they had delivered the most perfect leader for his Pilgrimage. He returned to the present as he said the ritual response, "Yes, Auron, I will take you as my Guardian." He grasped the right hand with his own. They formed a warrior's handshake, grasping each other's forearms. They shared a smile that was mirrored on each face.

"Now, with that," Auron looked around and down at his somewhat less than perfect self, "If I may use your shower? And housekeeper's laundry experience?" Braska's soft chuckle was the only answer the young man needed as he too broke out in a cheerful, baritone laugh.

* * *

Jecht was bored.

Jecht was randomly covered in rancid fruit juices.

Jecht was really beginning to hate on life.

Jecht was really, REALLY bored.

He had a habit of yelling insulting things out the open door to his cell. Encouraging people to throw things at him like a baseball target clown at the fair. It was detrimental to his cleanliness, but they hosed him off every once and a while. The fruit that wasn't TOO rotten tasted ok. It was a darn sight better than the bread and jerky he was given twice a day. It had been days since he had been thrown in the clink.

He did a lot of thinking while he sat, in between jeering back at the crowd and pacing the small cell. He thought about his family, they must be going crazy with worry! He couldn't remember what he had radioed in those last few minutes. He didn't even think he got a warning off. He prayed that his own had survived the monstrous storm. That Priest Jarod came by once a day to talk with Jecht. He tried to set Jecht straight on what was really happening here. As far as the Blitzer was concerned, he got little out of the whole mess. It was strange, they stanchly refused to believe that he was from a real, functioning city called Zanarkand. They believed that the storm was caused by a monster called "Sin". Jecht chuckled at that name. Like sin can be personified as a monster directly attacking you and yours. They bought that he knew Blitzball, even quizzed him on the rules. There was some drift, but the game was still in its basic form the same. They even told him about a stadium that was out there in one of the other cities. But man, Zanarkand was a ruin. A sacred ruin where only the most privileged of people ever go. Up north. Beyond a great mountain.

Jecht rubbed the back of his head, snapping his neck to release some of the pent up tension in his shoulders. He shook his head. And they called him Crazy. All he cared about was getting out and on the way back up there. He looked up as his guard walked up with the hose. Oh goody, Bathtime!

* * *

The next day, Braska woke Auron up from his couch. He had loaned the tall man a pair of pajama bottoms and had thrown his dirty and stinking clothing into the Laundry. He was pleased that he had been privileged to have one of the few Al-Bhed washing machina. A luxury that was a gift from his wife. He had hung the clothes to dry on the line outside. When Auron was up and ready to face the day, he had Gemma bring them back in the house, folded and smelling of the fresh night air. The young man was pleased, he didn't have to wash his own mistakes out of his clothes. It was even better when he put on the red coat, his signature piece, all the stains had been cleaned out. Somehow, the housekeeper had even gotten the blood stains out. Auron had to scrub for hours sometimes to bring that coat back up to its red glory.

He took his clean clothes, a borrowed straight razor and an hour to get shaved and showered. He had lost his belt somewhere during the night, and now the red coat just hung on him, it was bothersome. With a sigh he held the thing shut and walked out to find his new charge.

"Excuse me, Mr. Auron. I can't get to my stool and Daddy's busy in the living room. Can you help?" Asked the young lady of the house. Auron took a moment to really look at the girl, she was a beauty, an interesting mix of both parents. Her eyes were the most striking, the right being green and the left being blue. Her smile was all her fathers and her hair was an interesting light brown. With a soft smile on his face he reached up on the shelves in the bathroom where Gemma had placed the little pink and yellow stool out of the way of the new guest. He set it down with care and then backed off. Waving the little princess to her own bathroom. She giggled at his antics, and smiled back at his grin. She liked this new friend of her Father's. She felt he was right to be there. She was so glad she didn't get him ran off or in trouble when she found him on her doorstep.

Auron walked back to the living room, taking a moment to clean up his makeshift bed and folding all the sheets and blankets. He placed them at the end of the couch, the pillows on top. Very precise, crisply folded with creases. When Auron turned around, Gemma had breakfast ready for the four of them. Simple cereals, toast and eggs were served. She had set the usual table, but now, the empty plate was filled, and she whispered a soft apology to the usual missing diner as she put the food out. Braska motioned to Auron, gesturing at the place across from him at the table. The young man was grateful that the little family included him and he ate whatever was placed before him.

"Today, we go get you a sword, some kind of …rigging? ... for it and a belt. Maybe outfit you with some extra shirts and pants, and some extra straps for a small pack." Braska finished over the last of the meal.

Auron blushed, "I don't need what I can't pay for." He said with no little pride.

Braska sighed, "Well, you can't just carry your jug and your katana around in your hands. And where are you going to store all your supplies? Wrapped up in one sleeve of your coat?" He shook his head, "Don't worry about money. You're a Guardian now, what we can't pay for the church will provide. And we will collect quite a bit along the way, so you can pay them back. If you feel you must."

Auron's blush died down and he nodded. He was used to the church providing for all his needs, it was no stretch to assume that even though they had turned their back on the Warrior-Monk Auron, they would not do the same to the Guardian Auron. He took up the dishes as Yuna ran to her bedroom and gathered up her day pack.

Braska was to drop her off at the Orphanage in the Temple, so that she could begin to get used to the people and children there. He hated this part of the entire affair, it nearly tore his heart in two to leave behind his precious little girl. But she would be safe in the arms of the Church, protected here in the holy city from even Sin.

As they walked together from the house to the market district, Auron kept a vigilant eye for any trouble. It was daytime, but he was getting into the spirit of the job. Braska now had a protector, loyal and steadfast. Might as well get used to the detail. If Braska found no others, Auron knew enough about the role as Guardian that he would be hard pressed to protect the man. As they walked he carried his jug in his right hand, it seemed ridiculous to keep the thing, a constant reminder of how he had lost his control. But, it may turn out to be useful, Alcohol was medicinal, helped with cleaning wounds and equipment, and it would help with pain. And, if worse comes to worse, it could be used to store extra water on the long journey. He held his jacket closed with his left hand, until they reached a clothier and he could purchase a new belt.

Braska lead the group to the shop he preferred. It was an Ah-Bhed shop closeted in the middle of the market, hidden in plain site from the Yevonite Church. Within Auron talked with the proprietor, the little tanned man had everything he could need; from a gray and light blue silk belt with strong steel clasps to small brown leather straps for a matching brown small pack to ride on his left hip. Auron then questioned the Al-Bhed proprietor about sheaths and belts for swords. The man, named Tak, had in the back of his store a special harness. One designed to carry a long rifle across the back for ease of movement and a fairly quick draw. The Warrior-Monk was surprised. Before, when Auron had to carry his katana, he just let it ride on his shoulder. The posture forcing his right hand and arm into maintaining the weapon. Frequently, at rest, he would bury the tip in the ground, resting on the pommel. Gil changed hands, Braska footing the bill after Auron's shopping spree. The young man was amazed at the rigging that now rode on his back, and couldn't wait to try to fit the great sword there.  
Yuna nodded at the look, she advised him on some improvements. A braid here and a string of beads there. She had made a string of blue and green beads earlier and she gifted it to him on the walk. She told him it was for his belt and connected to the tokkuri. It rattled slightly as he walked and ruined any chance at stealth. Auron couldn't disappoint the girl and refuse them. Besides, Braska had pointed out; where they were going, they wouldn't need stealth. The last thing was a simple brown leather strap, he gathered his long raven black hair into a functional ponytail. When he finished only a few strands on either side of his forehead escaped to frame his open face. Yuna proclaimed his look complete since he refused to have his bangs beaded by the little girl. The man had some pride, even on the receiving end of a bi-colored, big eyed, pouty face.

As they walked up to the Temple, they passed the "street of shame". A small alleyway that was lined on one side by the open barred cells of the Temple's drunk tank. Bevelle, even being a Holy City, was a town full of bars and saloons, sake shops and plenty of miserable people. They had taken to placing those found drunk in public in these cells. Enterprising merchants sold fruits and vegetables to passersby to throw at the loud and usually boisterous drunks.

The rumor mill was churning out rumors left and right as Auron and Braska dropped off Yuna at the nearby Orphanage. There was talk of a crazy man claiming to be from the ruined city of Zanarkand in the cells and news of Auron's adventure at the bar was bandied about as well. The crazy man rumor peeked Braska's interest and an old friend of Auron's went to find the young man.

Braska took his newly minted Guardian up to the temple, where he made an appointment with the Maester in charge of the Warrior-Monks and the Temple guard. Auron waited off the side, in an often unused passageway, tensely waiting for things to be ironed out over his favored weapon. He was noticed by a monk acolyte, dressed in bright orange, who turned and bolted back toward the Warrior-Monk Compound. Braska smiled at his young Guardian. He knew it must be hard, after all that Auron had gone through, to return to the place he had once felt at home. When he had to disappear into the office of the Maester of Defense, he shot the man a thumbs up like a Blitzer signaling to his team he was OK after a brutal tackle.

Auron smiled and leaned against the wall. That was until a familiar face parted the crowds of acolytes and junior preists as he walked straight up to the ex-warrior-monk. With a causal stride, Auron's old comrade, Wen Kinoc stopped to address the young man.

"Auron! By the Fayth, what has brought you back?" the man was smiling, his plain brown hair ruffled by the commander's helmet as he popped it off and stuffed it under his own arm. Brown eyes, sunken in a face that was beginning to show some stress looked over the relaxing Auron. "You're not thinking of recanting? Of returning to the Order?"

"No, no." Auron shook his head, "I've accepted a position with a new Summoner. Lord Braska has taken up the challenge to defeat sin, and I will lead his Guardians." He smiled, "It is what I was meant to do, Wen. It all worked out. Well, except for my sword." He shrugged, "I would like to carry a Katana onto the pilgrimage, if you have any way to add a word…?"

"Of Course, my brother! Why ever not?" He shook his head, "It would be an honor for our Order if you were to carry a katana on pilgrimage! Why the Weapons Master stripped you of it, I'll not ever know. I will put in a word, right straight away!"

"Thanks for everything, Kinoc."

"I know I don't need to tell you this, but, guard Lord Braska well." The older man replied.

"That I will." Auron grinned, "And you'll be busy too. I heard they made you Second in Command!"

Wen sighed, dropping his head, "You know that promotion… was meant for you." He shook his head. "You were always the better one, even until the end…"

As Kinoc straightened up, Auron teased, "You make it sound as if I'm going off to die or something." He regained his serious nature, "I WILL see you again."  
"Yes." Came the terse reply, Wen nodding to his friend.

"Well then…" Auron trailed off, not quite sure what else Wen needed or wanted to say.

"Going already?"

The young man nodded, grunting a wordless ascent.

Wen gained a wistful look, "You will tell me about Zanarkand when you return, won't you?"

Once again, a wordless "uh-huh" was Auron's reply, he noticed Braska waiting, a grin on his face, near the office of the Maester of Defense. Wen nodded once more, a goodbye as much as an acceptance of what he had learned.

"Farewell." Auron awkwardly mumbled, turning to his new duty he hurried off. He never saw Kinoc reach to the wall behind him and grab the sphere recording the entire conversation. As the young man met up with his new master, Wen Kinoc turned and walked the other direction. He knew a certain Priest that would love to hear what had happened to the boy he had tried so hard to destroy from the inside. There had to be something he could get out of this.

* * *

Jecht lounged in his cell, the festivities for the day over. It was approaching evening and most of the people walking out in the city had left for the night. The Guards had just rotated out the day crew for the midnight bunch. He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. It had been four full days since his last beer. Sheesh! Listen to him, soon he'd be sitting in a church rec room, circle of chairs filled with other lowlifes, "Hi, my name is Jecht, it's been …." Hey! Wait, if it's anonymous, why say your name? Jecht chuckled at himself. At least his grumpiness hadn't completely killed his humor. Not yet anyway. He looked up curiously when he heard footsteps approaching his beloved cell. Oh goody! More people to stare at the crazy man. He didn't even bother to get up. The guards all quickly changed from barely standing at attention to snapping off those weird bows as another priest, this one in a red colored leaf dress. Curiosity brought out the worst in him.

"Who are you?" he growled from the depths of his cage.

With a raised eyebrow, Braska asked, "You are the one named Jecht, the man from Zanarkand. Are you not?" He crossed his arms, watching the man as he spoke.

"What of it?" Jecht was getting bored again. More priests here to help the poor little crazy man. As he settled in for more verbal fun, a little pissant guy in a red coat and a jug on his hip burst out at him.

"Watch your tongue, Knave!" Wow, Jecht thought languidly, Knave? When did this become a bodice ripper? I'll give points to the flower priest, he thought as Braska shot a glare out the side of his face at the posturing young man. How old was this guy anyway? 20? 25? Jeez, make a man feel old why don't ya.

The young man shrugged, the look he had on his face was frozen between embarrassment, confusion and disgust. He just settled in to watch as the Priest turned back to continue his interrupted conversation with Jecht.

"Ah! My apologies! I am Braska, a Summoner." Braska plastered his most winning smile on his face, hoping that Auron would keep his mouth shut. He was beginning to realize that Jecht may be a bit too rough around the edges for his new Guardian. "I've come to take you from this place." Jecht slowly rose from his comfortable position on the wooden shelf.

Standing now, in the center of his cell, arms crossed his tattooed chest, Jecht noted, "Sounds Sweet. What's the catch?"

Braska chuckled self depreciably, "That easy to see, was it?" he paused and looked Jecht in the eyes, "I soon leave on a pilgrimage to Zanarkand."

Jecht's tough guy demeanor cracked like an egg, "Seriously!?" He dropped his arms, and leaned in close to the bars.

"I would like you to join us." The young man behind Priest Braksa frowned at this, but he held his peace, for the moment. "It will be a dangerous trip. Yet, if we do reach Zanarkand, my prayers will be answered. And YOU will be able to get home." He paused, a rueful look in his blue eyes. "We think." His face looked hopeful, "What say you?"

"Great! Let's GO!" Jecht pumped his fist, excitement roughening his voice even more.

Braska let loose a thoughtful sound, "Mmm." He quirked that same eyebrow again, "So quick?"

"Anything to get outta here." Jecht swept the air in front of him with a slashing gesture.

"Then it's settled!" Braska said, beaming a smile at his soon to be new Guardian.

Auron couldn't hold in his opinion any longer, "But I must protest!" He grimaced at the riffraff in the cell, "This… Drunkard… a Guardian?"

"HEY!" Jecht had had just about enough of this crap. Getting taunted each day didn't really give him any patience with the judgmental tone of the young red-coated man. "You wanna step inside here an' say that?" he growled, gesturing to the brash Monk. Auron responded silently, staring down the wild haired athlete trapped in a cage of his own device.

"What does it matter?" Asked Braska, turning from the cage to fully engage his friend, "No one believes that I, a fallen Summoner, wed to an Al-Bhed could possibly defeat Sin." He nodded at Auron, using his charisma, the summoner pulled the young man's death glare off the defenseless prisoner still trapped in his cell. "This is what they say." Auron's glare faded as he turned his attention to Braska. His frown however, didn't change. "No one expects us to succeed."

Auron raised his arms in a gesture of confusion, "But, Lord Braska, sir…" He let his hands drop back to his sides in defeat. Somehow he knew, just knew that this braggart was coming with them. And it would be HIS responsibility to mold a Guardian out of that hot mess.

Braska chuckled, "Let's show them they're WRONG." He turned back to the man waiting, surprisingly quiet during this whole thing, "A fallen Summoner, a man from Zanarkand," He flipped his head back to stare directly at Auron, "and, a Warrior-Monk doomed to obscurity for refusing the hand of the Priest's daughter." A crooked grin broke out on Braska's face, his words turned joyful as he finished, "What a delightful irony it would be if WE defeated Sin."

Jecht had once again reached the end of his patience. Blah blah blah Sin, blah blah Irony, blah blah protest. Whatever. "Stop Gabbin' an' get me outta here!"

Braska sent Auron to the guards to get the cell opened up as he moved out of the way. He observed the two men, quietly and not so quietly sparing for dominance. Both men were leaders, top of their form and arrogant. Though Auron had just been dealt a large blow, it seemed that since being given the status of Guardian, his confidence had returned in spades. Jecht led a team of practiced athletes to victory in the rough and dangerous sport of Blitzball. The best in the league, and he was the best of the best. No doubt, this journey would be … interesting.

In short order, the Guards, frankly happy to not put up with this loud mouth crazy man any more, opened up the door and Jecht prowled out. He stood for a bit, facing the small cell that he had called home for the last four days. He stretched the kinks out and rubbed the back of his neck, cracking the vertebrae like a percussion instrument. "Ah... Free at last!"

"Now Jecht…" Braska paused, trying to find the best words to sum up what he needed the huge man to do, "I am in your hands until we reach Zanarkand."

Jecht turned slowly around and looked the man in the flower dress up and down, "Right, right." In a voice that clearly said, I am totally not paying you any attention. He scratched his head and asked, rubbing his chin, "So, what is a Summer-ner anyway?" He watched as Braska turned to Auron and made a gesture of peace, waving his hands slowly down to the floor. The warrior-monk, for his part just grunted. He glared at the rude being he was now saddled with, his frown flattening to a thin line of pressed lips.

* * *

That is the long first installment. Please, read and review! I welcome all critique! And thank you for checking my work out.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for dealing with the LONG first chapter. If you are here, you at least liked it enough to tap the "Next" button! YAY!

Please, if you like it, review! If you HATE it, REVIEW MORE! Feedback is appreciated! As Cid would say, "Can't fix what cha don't know is broke!"

* * *

The Road Less Traveled

Chapter 2:

Yuna watched from the hallway, right near her bedroom door as Gemma greeted her father and his new friends. Mr. Auron looked upset, he had a thin straight line for a mouth and his brown eyes were almost slits as he walked stiffly into the house. He stopped to kick off his boots and hang his coat and belt on a freshly installed peg in the wall. His movements were precise, and spoke volumes about the level of frustration he was feeling. WOW. She hoped she never saw that look directed at her!

The little girl leaned closer to the wall and continued to watch the parade through the front door. A new man was being lead in by Father. He was TALL, even taller than Mr. Auron and she liked his crazy long hair and red headband. He didn't wear a shirt at all and looked like he was baked in the sun like a raisin. His face was kind of scary, all craggy, with a short beard and bright red eyes that sparkled as he looked around. Even though his nose was all funny looking, he had this smile. Yuna thought he was so very interesting. She looked over the rest of him and saw that he was wearing black shorts and this orange half skirt that faded to red at the bottom…and no SHOES! He was smelly too, like the boys that she played with down the street, he must not like bath time very much either.

Gemma retreated from the door fairly quickly after seeing the storm brewing on the Warrior-Monk's face. She hustled to the safety of the kitchen, grabbing the produce she had picked earlier for dinner and heading to the washbasin. She then saw the master's little girl, eyes as big as saucers and mouth hanging open at the spectacle of her father's new acquaintances. With a worried frown, Gemma motioned silently to the child and got her attention. With a finger she was directed back to her room. Yuna completely ignored the housekeeper, watching the three men in her living room.

Auron stalked to the couch, with a deliberate silence he settled down next to the bedding he had carefully folded that morning. His arms crossed, he glanced at the hallway and noted the two small eyes, green and blue. With a visible effort, he grinned at the girl and patted the couch next to him. For some reason, he wanted to keep the young girl away from the uncouth barbarian they had released. Perhaps he was being unkind, but he was frankly worried about what the drunk would do or say around the little girl. Yuna padded quietly to the young man and settled on the couch, her hands folded in her lap all eyes and curiosity.

Braska looked over from giving Jecht the five scent tour and nodded at his Guardian. "Ah good, Jecht, I want to introduce you to my daughter." He guided the man over to face the couch. "This little angel is my Yuna. Yuna say hello to Mr. Jecht."

"Hello." She said quietly, "You're big!" She blushed and hid her smile behind her hands.

Jecht chuckled good naturedly, "The better to look out for ya!" he flexed for the child, his "Great Jecht" Smile firmly in place. "Why, you are a pretty little girl! Must take after your mom!"

Auron sighed and shook his head as Braska's smile slipped a bit. Yuna smiled sadly and nodded, "I was told that I have Mommy's hair and one of her eyes. I miss her a lot, Mr. Jecht, sir."

"Where is she then?" Asked the concerned athlete as he comically looked around, seeing only an older woman in the kitchen, frowning over a cutting board with a large chef's knife in her hand.

"She has passed to the Farplane, Jecht." Braska stated softly, with that he turned the man away from his child and pushed him toward the hallway. "In the back, to the left is the wash room, leave your clothing on the floor outside the door and Gemma will wash and repair them. I will have something for you to wear after you take a shower, a straight razor and cream is in the cabinet over the sink. How about we get you freshened up?"

Jecht nodded and lumbered back to the room. As he disappeared, Auron relaxed a little, settling his hands on his knees and looking over at Yuna as she sat beside him. "You Ok?" He asked softly, "I'm sure that he didn't mean anything by what he said."

"I'm fine, Mr. Auron. He didn't know." She smiled sweetly, "And he seems kind of nice."

Braska walked up to the two and settle on his haunches, "Yuna, you were a very good girl just now. Thank you." He turned his attention to Auron, "He will have to sleep in here with you, I have a sleeping roll I can give him for the floor, but the couch is still yours." He looked down for a moment, "I'm sorry about the cramped conditions. I didn't expect to have two guardians so soon."

The young man sighed and shrugged, "Beggars can't be choosers. As long as he is journeying with us, I might as well get used to the close sleeping arrangements. It's not like there are inns at every stop on the pilgrimage." He grimaced, "I hope he doesn't snore."

Yuna giggled, "Oh…he snores, you can tell by the growly voice he has!" She patted Auron's shoulder gently, "If it gets too loud you can sleep in my room."

Auron paused, glancing at his Summoner and then smiling down at Yuna, "That is very nice, thank you."

Gemma took that moment to clear her throat in the kitchen, "Mr. Braska, sir, How many for dinner tonight?"

"Five it seems, Gemma, I'll go get the extension for the table and a chair from the back. Do we have enough plates and such?"

Gemma nodded, "I don't like that man, sir. Where did you find him, he smells of the stockade?" She frowned, "Do you really feel it's safe to bring that… element…into the house with little Yuna here?"

"Now, Gemma. Jecht is to be my second Guardian. I will be trusting him with my life, why not introduce him to my family and home? Do not judge the man by his exterior, which is selling him short." Braska walked over to the kitchen to rest a hand on the older woman's shoulder, "I understand and appreciate your concern. He is a very rough person, one might even say rude." Auron snorted from the couch as Yuna looked up at his face, seeing the frustration plain as a sunrise, "But, I feel that he has a heart that cares, and he speaks of his family and home very often. A man that is obsessed with the state of his family can't be as bad as he seems to be." Braska turned from his housekeeper and shot another of his father looks at Auron.

"And, you." He points at the young man, "I need to know what weapons Jecht can use, what his proficiencies are, and what he needs for the journey. We use small packs, no large backpacks, they would get in the way of fighting fiends." Braska's tone is all business, without even realizing it, Auron's posture straightened, respectful and attentive. "He will need armor and boots, I'll not have him walking bare foot across Spira. So, after you evaluate his fighting proficiencies, take him to Tak's shop and outfit him. Put it on my credit, Tak will be amenable."

Auron nodded and stood up, careful to not jostle the girl beside him. "Do you have an account with a weapons smith? I know of a good one near the temple. I could take him there to try out weapons. They MAY extend me some credit, or you could entrust me with a few gil."

Braska agreed and moved to his robes, laying tossed over a chair in his haste to show Jecht around. He grabbed a sizeable gil pouch and tossed it over to Auron. "There should be plenty of gil enough there to get everything we need. Just use it for supplies and sundry until we leave."

Gemma turned to her cooking and added a few more potatoes to the stew she was making, setting dozen hand rolled biscuits to bake under the hearth. She looked up as she returned to her station in the kitchen. "We should get some fresh meat from the butcher, Mr. Braska, sir. For the stew, you should get more protein before you leave for your journey and I'm sure the other two men are used to having some meat in their diet."

Braska shrugged, "I suppose you are right." He looked back at Auron, "Can I impose on you to gather some meat on your return with Jecht?"

Auron nodded, "Of course." He took that moment to set the gil purse into a pocket in his pants. "I believe I will stop by the Order's Armory and see if my particular blade is still there. If not, I will have a similar one." He shrugs, his gaze turned inward as he spoke, picturing all he had to do. He looked back at Braska, "This will take some time, when will dinner be ready?"

Gemma answered from the kitchen, "Stew is stew, I can have it ready no earlier than 4 hours from now, but, I can add the meat at any time. So say sunset?"

Auron nodded and gestured to the back of the house, "I will be in the yard near the garden while I wait for Jecht to clean up. If you could send him back there, I'll test him and then we will head out."

Yuna watched as her Father nodded absently, his mind a million miles away. She decided that he needed a hug and climbed out of the couch as Auron walked back along the hallway to the back door. She walked up to her father and gave him a huge hug, Braska sighed and returned it warmly to his only child. Leaving her was the most painful part of his entire pilgrimage, dying at the end would be a sweet release in comparison.

* * *

Auron placed his socks on the mat just past the door and walked bare foot into the grassy little yard. Most of Braska's back lot was taken up by an extensive vegetable and herb garden, a testament to someone who loves fresh produce and growing things. There was, however a small plot of grass set aside for play and other activities. Auron settled down on his knees in the center of this grassy area and folded his hands on his thighs. Closing his eyes against the late morning sun, he allowed the peace of the small place to infuse his spirit. It had been some time since he had allowed himself a session of meditation. On the road, he knew there would be little privacy, and so he took some self-indulgent moments to settle himself in private. He lost himself in his own thoughts, allowing the stress and anxiety of the last few days to pass on, pushed out of his spirit by the slow and careful breaths he took. In through the nose, out the mouth, he focused just on the rhythm of his own breath.

He stayed still there in the middle of the grass for a little while, changing his internal focus from the breath to each group of muscles in his body. He tensed and released each major muscle group with the same rhythm as his breath, feeling for any stress or strains he might have gained from the activities of the last few days. Nothing was out of place, and his muscles fairly quivered with the desire to be pressed into a workout. He grinned to himself, he looked forward to the movement and controlled release of a kata.

Auron stood up and stretched, allowing his body to loosen up and get the blood flowing. He changed his mind and began some calisthenics, pushups and sit-ups, arm rotations and leg lifts. A soft smile on his face, in his element.

Inside the house, Yuna stayed with her father for a long time, letting him hold her and returning the embrace with all the love she had for him. She could feel that he needed the contact, and she liked being in his arms. He was daddy, warm, strong and gentle. After a bit of time, Braska broke the hug and looked down at his precious little girl. With a soft smile that lit up his eyes, he shot a glance to the back of the house. A rough voice was singing in the shower. The Hymn of the Fayth growled in a deep voice echoed through the house. It seemed that his new friend from Zanarkand had a few surprises of his own, he grinned at Yuna as the man sung with apparent abandon.

"I think we might want to watch what is going to happen in our back yard, Yuna. Do you want to sit on my lap and drink some juice while those two work out?" He asked his daughter.

Yuna nodded and ran to the cold storage to grab the juice bottle. She then dashed out the back door. She stopped on the mat and watched as Auron worked his body with some one-handed pushups. His arms were strong, muscles bunching as he made the difficult exercise look effortless. His focus was on himself, she could see, and he had a happy look to his face. He eyes closed as he switched quickly from left hand to right hand and back. Breathing in rhythm to his movements.

Braska walked out of his house and stopped behind his little girl. It was a treat to see someone with that much training apply themselves to a work out. He knew that Auron was a top form fighter. All Warrior-monks dedicated their lives to perfecting the body as a way to perfect the inner spirit. He felt a little guilty and patted his soft stomach, feeling a bit embarrassed by his scholar's body. He guided his child to the side of the grassy patch, and laid out a blanket he had grabbed as he passed by the linen closet. Soon, Yuna and Braska were curled up, daughter on her father's lap, sipping from the cool juice bottle and watching the young man put himself through his paces.

Auron stood back up from his pushups, wiping the sweat from his forehead to forestall the drops getting into his eyes. He looked at his little audience and sighed, so much for some privacy. He nodded to Braska and shot the little girl a grin. Yuna was whispering into her father's ear, obviously asking questions. He grasped his hands and pushed them over his head, one last stretch and then he settled into the first position of a slow kata.

Braska fielded the questions of his little girl quietly as they watched the monk move deliberately and slowly through the ritualized movements of the kata. Braska watched with a critical eye at the moves. Auron was extremely well trained, no hesitancy or jerkiness. Every stance flowed from one to the next. It was deceptively easy, Braska understood that the moves were in actuality offensive and defensive postures and strikes. Each slowed down and used for a form of active meditation. Yuna was fascinated, she had not seen this style of movement before and very much wanted to get some music for Mr. Auron's dance.

* * *

It was official! The Great Jecht is back! The blitzer walked out of the shower, having used up all the hot water and a goodly portion of soap. He tied a towel around his waist and ambled over to the steamed up mirror and cabinet. He wiped the reflective surface clean with a grin and took stock of the toiletry supplies. Jecht turned his face this way and that to assess the damage of four days with no cleanup and shrugged. He grabbed a porcelain jar of shaving cream and whipped it up, getting it foamy again. With the supplied brush the blitzer proceeded to get himself ready for a shave. It had been a while since he had shaved the old fashioned way, spoiled by the convenience of a machina razor. He carefully scrapped the offending beard off his face, only leaving a couple of nicks in those hard to deal with places. As Jecht let his skin calm down from the abuse, he took a moment to work with his hair. A comb had been left for him and with some effort, the athlete worked most of the knots out. It was still wild, just long enough to not even consider laying down but instead standing up in all manner of directions. With the amount of time he spent in the specialized water of a blitzball sphere pool and in the salt water of the ocean, he rarely tried to do more than keep the wild black locks from getting into his eyes. It seemed a waste of time and it was a matter of pride that he didn't just shave it all off like a lot of professional blitzers. It was his look, the red headband more than able to keep things from bugging him.

He peeked carefully out the door of the washroom, finding a pair of plain blue pajama pants waiting for him, he chuckled. Jecht was so much taller and much more built than the man of the house. The fit was tight, and constricted his legs. The large man smirked and took the razor to the gifted pants, now he had comfortable blue shorts. There was no way Braska had ANY shirts big enough to fit Jecht's set of guns. He could see why the man didn't even bother. Jecht didn't mind, he liked to wear as little as possible, the water was not forgiving when you played blitzball.

Jecht ambled out of the bathroom and headed back down the hallway, his nose informing him that something was cooking and he hadn't had a meal in a while. He leaned on the kitchen counter and looked over the stewpot bubbling on the hearth fire. Gemma had left out a plate of chopped vegetables left over from the construction of the stew, Jecht helped himself. It was actually pretty good to eat a couple of handfuls of carrots and celery, especially after the four day diet of bread and jerky he got in jail.

Gemma came out from the laundry and looked up at the massive man nibbling in her kitchen. "That was for the stew, you know." She said as she grabbed a few more uncut vegetables from the wash basin. "You're making more work for me." She glared at the man, so casually hanging out in her kitchen and looking smug.

"Wasn't no sign sayin' it wasn't for eatin'" he growled in reply around a piece of carrot. "You got anything to drink around here?" He looked around, this place was definitely weird. No refrigerator, no stove, washing machine or even a sink. Just a counter made of some sort of stone and a brick construction with a fire on top. It had some sort of metal rigging to hold pots and pans at various heights over the fire and a metal door over the brick part. Bamboo cutting boards were stacked near the stone basin where a pump rested to disperse water. A rack set on a deliberately sloped stone counter, dishes set there to dry in the air.

The Housekeeper sniffed and turned to the back of the kitchen, she opened the cold storage and pulled out a glass jar of milk. She held that up and looked at her guest. Jecht sighed and nodded, no beer he was fairly sure. Hey, that stiff in the red coat had a clay sake jar. That would be his next target. He grinned at the woman as she handed him a glass of milk. "Thanks, where is everybody?" he asked after a refreshing sip.

"In the back, Mr. Auron is waiting for you there. You are to talk to him about your abilities." She replied formally, chopping more carrots to add to the stew.

Jecht guffawed, "My abilities? Hey, I'm not that type of guy! I likes me the ladies." He rubbed his chin, "But it makes a lotta sense if he's…"  
"Your fighting Skills." Gemma interrupted. "For your journey?" She looked at the man with a mildly offended face.

"Oh. Yeah, yeah." He snagged another handful of carrot pieces and turned to the hallway. The frustrated housekeeper's sigh pushing him out the back door. He stopped on the mat just outside the exit of the house and popped carrot chunks into his mouth as he watched Auron move through some sorta dance. It seemed kinda fruity to the athlete, not removing his previous observation of the stiff young man. He wasn't into that martial arts karate crap. He just thought that mind over body stuff was…well…crap. Training was all about getting to a goal, moving the ball through the water, perfecting your kick. Nothing spiritual about it. Just good hard work. That being said, it was impressive to see the man move through the different stances, his athletic eye could appreciate the economy of the gestures and poses. Nothing was wasted in the moves. What a blitzer this guy would make! He would totally rule in the forward position.

He sipped his milk and looked over to where Braska was sitting with his little girl. They were curled up together in a picture of family togetherness. Jecht sighed, he could never get that close with his little boy, just too… ah, and who was he kiddin'. His little boy flat out hated him, at least his wife still cared. He ambled over to where they sat, he handed a carrot piece to the girl as a peace offering and settled down next to the pair.

"Ah, Jecht. I see you found the clothing I set out for you." Braska blinked at the hacked off pajama bottoms, "I'm sorry I don't have a shirt that would fit you. We will have to go outfitting you later." Braska informed the man, soft smile on his face as Yuna nibbled like a rabbit on the carrot.

"'s Ok, Braska. I don't think it's that bad a day out. I don't mind." He looked over at the Warrior-Monk as he finished his kata, returning to a stance of peace. He placed his left hand over his right fist and placed them against his stomach. Head facing forward, he bowed, precisely from the waist, eyes never leaving the space in front of him. "That Auron guy, he a karate man?" Jecht asked throwing a thumb at the man in question.

"Depends on what you mean?" Braska replied, "Auron is a trained fighter, a Warrior-Monk of Bevelle. He has dedicated his life to the pursuit of martial perfection and meditation through action." Braska gestured at Auron who was taking a moment to wipe his face after the slow kata. His red coat was off, and Jecht took another look, the man was fit. No doubt he was trained. The sleeveless black shirt framed a broad, well defined chest that thinned down to a trim waist. There was little extra fat on the man, and his arms were lithe, muscular with little bulk. Jecht crossed his large, developed arms across his massive chest. He was not worried about taking the little guy out.

Auron's face was at peace, a soft grin robbing his features of that stoic and stern demeanor he had previously. That changed as Auron focused on the little group gathered before him, his gaze landing on Jecht. With a sigh his face changed back, hard lines and a squint of annoyance obliterated the look he had from his workout.

"I need to find out what you can do, Jecht." Braska stated, before Auron could say something possibly insulting. "We will be on a hard and dangerous road. We will have to fight against all manner of fiends, thieves and what not. So, can you fight?"

Jecht snorted, "Before I played Blitzball, I was on the streets. Gimmie a knife, a broken bottle or hell, even a stick, I can take most on." He flexed his arms and puffed out his chest, "'Sides, Blitz is a combat sport. I can tackle guys three times my bodyweight and push them outta the sphere. An' I can hit just about anything with a blitz ball. An' I don't dance around all pretty like." He threw a smirk at Auron, whose posture had gone from rested and relaxed to tense and defensive. Without realizing it, the Warrior-monk had slipped his right foot behind his left, turning slightly so his left shoulder was in front, his left foot pointed the same direction as his shoulders and his right hand resting against his right hip. He shifted his weight to his back leg, bringing his left hand up, slightly curled and open to hang directly out from his shoulder.

"Prove it." Was all the young man said, more a baritone growl then spoken.

Yuna watched the postures of the two men, she didn't like what she saw there. This was not a friendly confrontation. It looked like they were sizing each other up for a real fight. Braska echoed his daughter's thoughts. He raised his hand up in a gesture of peace. "Now, gentlemen. There is nothing to prove here. I need you both, so whether you like it or not, you have to work together. Test each other, by all means, but…don't make me have to use anything more powerful than a Cure, please."

Auron nodded to Braska, his eyes not leaving Jecht as the athlete slowly pulled himself up off the blanket. While Jecht had a grin on his face, it was only his lips that grinned. His eyes shown with frustration and anger and his body was tensed. He pulled himself to his full 6 foot four inches and crossed his arms across his tattooed chest again. He spent a good minute looking his opponent up and down, taunting with his grin and open footed stance. Without looking at Braska and little Yuna, he spoke with a soft, respectful growl, "I don't think you want her out here right now, Braska. I think there might be some hurtin' about to be done. We need to figure out just who is the top dog. Someone's 'bout to get bit."

Braska sighed, but he nodded and scooped up Yuna as he stood up. He moved fairly quickly out of the Back yard and into the house. He set the girl down and kneeled so he could speak with her eye to eye. "Daddy has to make sure nothing bad happens, but, I don't want you to see this. Go to the living room and read your books with Gemma. If I need help I'll call, OK?" Yuna nodded, eyes even wider than before. She bit her lip and kissed her Daddy. Braska smiled and turned back around to the yard.

Auron and Jecht had not moved a bit, eyes locked on each other. Each was experienced enough to want to wait for the other to commit to the first move. Auron was still in his simple defensive stance. Jecht had puffed his chest out, and stood slamming his right fist into his left palm. Working himself up.

"Are you going to just stand there and beat your chest like a Wendigo, or are you going to actually attack?" Auron growled, gesturing with his left hand, waving the man forward.

Jecht chortled, "The correct phrase, Red, is 'Come at me, bro!'" he put action to words and threw himself at the waiting monk. His right fist pulled back for a massive roundhouse, his left hand out to grasp that dangling, mocking left hand. Auron responded with a sharp jab to Jecht's right rib cage, his left hand closing into a fist. He hit with the balanced strength of his stance, the start of the hit coming from his back right foot. The monk was not playing around, precisely hitting his opponent to do some damage. He then turned with the force of Jecht's massive body, allowing the man to pass him by. Jecht was not without his own resources, even though he felt the pain blossom on his right side. He raised his knee, using it as a battering ram for a particularly sensitive spot. Auron's breath exploded with a painful grunt as his opponent went straight below the belt.

Braska winced, both men had taken an instant dislike to each other, they just could not see how much alike they really were. Instead, they had allowed the little annoyances to grow between them. Both men needed to know their place was secured, and the only language they chose to speak to each other was violence. He had hoped to avoid this, but, it was not meant to be. They just had to dust it up like two school yard bullies. He checked his internal store of energy, and mentally recalled the incantations for Cure and Esuna. He had a feeling some nasty tricks were going to be used.

Auron dropped to his left knee, breathing out strongly and willing away the crippling pain of the low blow. He directed his energy to pushing himself back up and kicking his opponent square in the back. He dropped back into his L-stance, ready for the next rush. Jecht used the momentum of passing his opponent by to spin. He had expected the kick. He used it to speed up the spin and hard armed the monk across the throat, yelling, "TAKE THAT!" Auron dropped his chin and took the arm hit to the face, protecting his sensitive throat. Jecht then added his left fist in the mix, round housing the man in the stomach. The target was hard as a rock, the monk already tightening his solar plexus in anticipation of the hit.

With both hands, Auron grabbed the athlete by the waste of his pajamas. Auron then shifted his weight, tossing the heavier man over his right leg. Jecht went down, and grabbed a leg as he went. He yanked the monk to the ground with him. The blitzer then rolled, putting the smaller man underneath himself and grabbed the man's face, thumbs going for the flashing brown eyes.

"Don't make me do this." He growled, "You know I can fight now. Just … don't."

Auron reached for the rock solid arms grasping his head and face. His lips pulled back in a feral grin. He pressed with his own thumbs against the pressure points that would numb the hands of his attacker. At the same time he used his own knee against the man overwhelming him. Jecht grunted, but he kept pressing down on Auron's head. He rested his thumbs on the young man's eyes, the threat now made perfectly clear.

"ENOUGH!" Yelled Braska, he moved quickly to the side of the two struggling men. "Break it up, or I will use Thunder."

Jecht grunted again, as Auron tried to use the leverage of his leg to push the massive man off of him. Finding the pressure points too slow, he dropped his hands from the locked arms and instead boxed Jecht's ears. The thumbs started to press down, light exploded in Auron's vision.

CRACK! BOOM!

The thunder spell sent a bolt through both men, Braska aiming for Jecht's back. The result was both men thrown away from each other. Jecht landed on his back, point of electrical impact smoking slightly and involuntary shivers running down his limbs two feet away from Auron. The monk just laid where he was and twitched, the damage from the spell passing through his face and grounding across his shoulders. He was out like a light, tears streaming from his eyes, burn marks where each finger had been on his face.

Braska followed his Thunder spell with a round of Cure on each man. Then Esuna on Auron, in case the damage to his eyes was enough to cause darkness. He then settled back on his haunches, waiting until the two men could compose themselves.

Jecht groaned. "Okay, that hurt." He slowly rolled himself up and sat on the ground, rubbing his face. He looked over at Braska, "Wha'd ya do THAT for?" he gestured to Auron, "We was just discussing the finer points of who kicks who's butt." He frowned, "Throwing lightening at us is cheating."

Braska shook his head. Wordlessly he got up and moved to check on Auron, who was just coming back to the world. Soundlessly, the monk grasped his head and curled up a bit. He felt his face and then his hands went to the ground to push himself up. His eyes were open, swollen and a little blotchy from first thumbs and then electricity. Otherwise, he was fine. He turned and shot a glare at Braska, pushing him away. He sat up, crossing his legs he settled himself into a meditation position.

"Aw what's this? Little Red gonna cry?" Mocked Jecht as he watched the silent man go through his painful awakening.

"Enough, Jecht." Braska commanded. He moved back and watched as Auron composed himself.

For his part, Auron was letting the pain and anger go with the breathing exercises. He started analyzing the fight, looking for the mistakes and weaknesses of both himself and Jecht. He would be ready for Jecht next time, abandoning any idea of fair combat. Jecht was a street fighter, dirty and wild. Auron's mistake had been thinking this would be fair and clean fight. He had been warned.

"What now, Braska?" Jecht snorted, "Doesn't look like little monkey man here is gonna move anytime soon. You got what you needed to know about me. I can fight." He shrugged, "Now what?"

"Now, we find out what you can do with more than just your fists." Braska replied. "As soon as Auron has completed his meditations, we will get you your clothes, a weapon or two and some meat for dinner." The priest frowned, "For now, go inside and clean yourself up. Check with Gemma to see when your clothing will be finished in the wash."

Jecht nodded and got up. He stalked to the door and entered the house. You could hear him grumble that he already had a shower. Braska moved to sit next to Auron.

"Auron…?" He asked quietly. The Warrior-Monk opened his eyes, the anger, pain, and frustration gone from them. He focused on his summoner. Braska continued, "I am sorry. I did not realize …"  
"I learned enough, My Lord." Auron interrupted, speaking calmly, "Jecht is strong, agile and ruthless. He would do well with a quick blade, smaller than a great sword. I believe that with a combat modified blitzball for Arial targets he would round out our Pilgrimage." He tossed his head from side to side, snapping his neck bones audibly, "This was no worse than any other training. A monk is trained to face death, Braska, this was … enlightening."

Braska looked at his first Guardian with a new found respect. He had not seen what the Warrior Monks did for training, but, it seemed that what these two went through was pretty brutal. He thanked the Fayth that he did not have to live in a world where such violence was so commonplace. He worried he may be a bit too soft for this journey. "When you are ready, we should get going to outfit Jecht. I think I would like to go with you two. Just to help keep the peace."

Auron shook his head, "Not necessary, Lord Braska, I know the measure of him now." He turned and look at his Summoner, "I will not be taken so easily next time. Stay home and be with your daughter. We will be fine." He stood up and brushed the grass from his clothing, with a smile he reached down to help Braska stand. He lifted the man with one hand, not even straining. "I would like to use your shower before we leave, if I may."

Braska nodded and smiled back. He very much liked this serious young man.

* * *

Well, a much more reasonable second chapter. Please review! I wish to thank my 2 followers and encourage everyone to give me feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

The Road Less Traveled Chapter 3:

After a quick, cold shower for Auron and a change back to black shorts and orange sash for Jecht, the two men headed out to the market district. There was an awkward silence between them. Jecht was a passionate fighter, and he had to be mad. He was fueled by the adrenaline of anger so he could lash out like that. Auron was an annoying little stiff and rubbed the big man the wrong way. However, Jecht was shocked at how hard the guy could hit. It was just confusing to the blitzer to see him so calm after their dust up. He spoke in quiet tones, respectful of the man who had just tried to gouge his eyes out. Jecht just didn't understand where Auron was coming from.

"Um… sorry about your eyes and all." Jecht mumbled as they walked side by side down the street. Auron had a slight limp, the only sign that he had any damage at all other than the slightly puffy eyes. "I just boiled over there. You get tired of your manliness getting challenged alla time, you know?"

Auron nodded, "I will admit, I underestimated you." He still spoke calmly, his baritone voice filled with grudging respect. "I won't do that again." He sighed, "I did get an accurate picture of what you can do and what lengths you are willing to go. I think I can work with it."

"Wher're we goin'?" Jecht asked.

"First, the weapons shop, to see what swords and blitz balls they have there." He ticked off the rest on his fingers as he talked, "Then Taks Clothiers, the butcher shop and finally the Temple."

Jecht nodded and settled in for the walk. He really wanted a beer after that whole thing, "Hey, can we stop somewhere an' get somethin' to drink? You know, beer, whisky?" he grinned, "I could use a libation after…"

Auron frowned, "I don't see why, but if you are in need of it, I'm sure we can find somewhere to stop. I must avoid the bar near the temple, however. I don't think they have cleaned up all the damage I caused in there last time."

"DAMAGE!?" Jecht grinned, "Ah HAH! I knew you weren't ALWAYS a stiff! Whaddya do in there, Red?"

"You do remember that my name is Auron?" his frown deepened, he did not appreciate the nickname. "If you must know, I over indulged with sake and attacked four temple guards."

Jecht slammed his open hand on Auron's left shoulder, causing the younger man to grunt and thank the Fayth that he had a pauldron attached on that side. "Good fer you!" Jecht's face split into a wild grin and he chuckled. "Why can't I see morea THAT guy?"

"Because, that is not who I am." Was the quiet response. They walked into the back of the market district and into an area with many forges, weapons displays and shop fronts. Auron led Jecht to a place with a large sign in the front, an image of Bahamut, Dragon Aeon of Bevelle, posing with his wings open. The name of the shop written below the picture: "Dragon's Arms".

The Monk opened the door and walked to the back counter. The sales floor was stacked from top to bottom with swords, spears, bows, cross bows, combat blitzballs, staves and various familiars for mages. On the left of the door, full sets of armor as well as custom pieces lined the walls and were mounted on manikins. Jecht's mouth dropped and he slowed down, looking right and left. Auron rang the small bell and waited for the proprietor as the blitzer slowly window shopped down the aisles of weapons.

The Shop owner, Zhanpan, walked up to the counter from the back. He was an older man, arms unusually thick and muscular from the forge. He was a master weapon smith and a former Monk. With a grin he recognized Auron and looked up at the door, a frown on his face. "Where is that oversized club you call a sword, Brother?"

Auron sighed, "Brother no longer, Zhanpan." He unconsciously pulled his shoulders back, and rubbed the right one with his left hand. "I was censured. But, that is not why I am here." He smiled and pointed to Jecht. "We are to go on Pilgrimage, and this man needs weapons for the journey."

The shopkeeper nodded after frowning at the young man. "Whelp, you test him on some stuff yet?"

"No, just had a short spar to get his basics. I think he would be great with a sword of medium length, two or one handed hilt. And, he is experienced with Blitzballs, I thought a combat model would round out him out."

"Ya know, I'm right over here, right?" Jecht growled as he stared at the different kinds of blitzballs on display.

Zhanpan nodded and lifted the counter to let himself out into the sales area. "You know I make the best weapons outside of the Temple, Broth-Auron. So, do you want to take a few items back to the testing area and try them out? The targets are set up to show what effects the weapons will cause, just like at the Temple."

Jecht had reached up and taken down a deep blue and black colored ball with multiple silver spikes. He was handling with a light touch, spinning it on a finger and tossing it back and forth.

"Be careful, Sir." Stated the Smith, "That one has darkness, silence and sleep abilities. If you hit yourself too hard, you could trigger those effects." He turned and looked at Auron, "I call it the Triple Penalty."

"Careful!? Do you realize just who you're yapping at?" Jecht turned to the Shopkeeper his grin in place, the combat blitzball spinning on a casual finger, "They ain't made a blitzball yet that the Great Jecht don't own on contact!" He pushed the ball into the air, stepped forward and kicked the falling spiky sphere with the bottom of his right foot. The ball arched over the man's head and landed with a soft "Plop" sound in his open right hand. Jecht didn't even watch the ball, keeping his eyes on Auron and the Shopkeeper through the entire maneuver.

The young monk blinked, his face completely expressionless. Without a word he turned to Zhanpan and grinned at him, "Sounds good. We could use status effects like that, can he control which effect goes off?"

"HelloooOOOOOooo!" Jecht interrupted, "Being amazing over here!" His grin slightly slipping as the two conversed around him.

"You are being very impressive," The shopkeeper stated his tone slightly mocking, he motioned to Auron, "As to your question… well, not really, but if you hit the critter in the eyes, you've got a best chance at darkness, same as with the mouth for silence and the nose for sleep." He shrugged and turned to look Jecht in the eye, "But really, it's a toss-up." He grinned at his own pun.

"HAH! Toss-up!" Jecht chortled at the older man. "Funny stuff. Where canna man go to throw his ball around?"

"First a sword or two, Jecht." Auron inserted, "Then we see about some armor."

Zhanpan moved to the display for various types of swords, moving in size from short to long and thin to wide blades, one and two sided and one or two handed grips. The man paused and looked Jecht over, "You right or left handed?"

"Right."

"Hold out that hand and arm please. I need to look at what you're packing." The man moved to examine the arm as Jecht extended his right hand, palm up until the arm was straight out from the shoulder. The smith measured the length of the arm and then took a moment to wrap his callused hands around the bicep. He nodded, "Strong one. He's got a nice reach too. You can tell that he's got some training in something…" He looked at Jecht with a questioning look.

"Blitzball!" roared Jecht. "Owner and Star player for the Zanarkand Abes!" He flexed and shot his Great Jecht grin again.

"Uh Hmmm." He looked at Auron and shrugged. "I have not heard of that team, nor have I ever seen a blitzer so big. Most of the CURRENT teams usually train for lithe bodies and quick reflexes. You must have the punch of a Ronso."

Jecht chuckled, not really knowing what a Ronso was. Auron nodded sagely, rubbing his stomach, "Oh yes, I can attest. He is just like a Ronso."

The shopkeeper just looked at the two of them and then turned back to the racks. He mumbled to himself as he looked over his work. "I know it's here, I haven't sold it yet." He tapped his chin, left arm crossed over his chest and resting his right elbow on his left forearm. Zhanpan grunted and reached with his right hand to the racks. He pulled a black bladed, wide, double edged sword. The entire sword was four feet long, the tip of the weapon ending in a series of sharp hooks. The hilt was long enough that a two handed grip could be used, but a one handed style was more comfortable. It had a unique T-bar design that was wrapped in the same white leather as the rest of the handle, allowing for some interesting techniques. The entre sword reminded one of a long necked anchor, the red enameled design on the body of the weapon invoked the image of dolphins. A chain dangled from a metal loop near the end of the blade, near the hand, a second loop on the other side was free. He pulled the blade up and turned it so he could present it to Jecht hilt first.

The athlete was impressed, he reached out with his right hand. Before he took the weapon, he turned and tossed the ball in his left hand to Auron. "Here. Catch."

Auron grunted as he caught the spiked weapon with both hands. He growled at the blitzer, "This is not a game, Jecht."

"Chill out, Red. I gotta Lady I havta meet." The large man reached out and nodded at the shop keeper. "You made her?"

Zhanpan nodded, "I was inspired by the ships at the harbor. It has waterstrike and in a crisis it will cast Null-tide and Null-shock." He smiled and looked over at Auron, "I got an Al-Bhed apprentice. They have the best techniques for customizing weapons. Don't overlook that tribe if you need a specialized blade or something." He released the blade into Jecht's outstretched hands and watched as the man moved the weapon around, gaining a feel for it. He motioned to the back of the shop, a door marked "Test range" stood slightly open. He waited until Jecht walked past and then caught up with Auron. "So… I haven't ever tried to make a Katana like the Order uses. You need one? I would cut you a deal since I'd be experimenting. I might not get the balance right."

Jecht walked back to the testing area and passed by the door. As the other two walked into the room he was swinging the sword with abandon. It reminded the men of a child with a stick, playing at warrior and fiends.

The Monk grimaced as he watches the display in the testing room. He looked at Zhanpan and shook his head, "Oh. No." He waved with a free hand, tucking the spiky ball under his right arm. "My Summoner managed to requisition a Katana from the Order Armory for me. I can only hope that my own blade was not destroyed after my censure." He walked into the back armored room.

Zhanpan looked thoughtful, "Now, unless he got as stupid as he is old, Aquagis is still the Weapons Master over there." He grinned, "That man would sooner sit on a Duelhorn's face naked than destroy a fine weapon like you had. I'm sure it's either on a wall somewhere in his forge or he's trying to find another idiot like you to train with it." The older man frowned, "You know, it's strange. You're one of the best in swords that Order has ever seen. Why on Spira would they just let you go? It seems to me a lot of the old ways are getting…phased out, you know?" He shook his head, "Well, not my place to say."

The three men gathered in the center of the padded room, target manikins in armor rested against the walls. The shop keeper walked over to the farthest wall and pulled a target out. The armor on it was old and well used. He motioned to it as he spoke to the two other men in the room. "The armor is treated to resonate with the attacks and effects of the weapons to show you what all you can do with my little toys." He walked back. "The only thing, be careful with that blitzball, a ricochet WILL cause the effects to go off if you don't catch it right. As if you threw it at yourself."

"Not gonna happen." Stated the Blitzballer. He looked at the shopkeeper, "You keep tellin' me to be careful, don't you know that I'm the greatest Blitzball player you ever seen?"

Auron held out the Triple Penalty ball toward Jecht and sighed. "I'm sure he doesn't. Test both weapons out. I'll train you on the way of the Sword." After the blitzballer snagged the ball he crossed his arms, "Start with the Blitzball. I'll watch you with the sword after. Then I'll check its balance and edge." He walked back and leaned against the back wall to the target armor, arms still crossed over his chest and one foot lifted and set against the wall.

Zhanpan moved to stand near Auron as Jecht looked at the ball in one hand and the sword resting in the other. He turned with a look of confusion, "Jus how am I gonna carry these two alla time? If were walking for a long time, I'm gonna need some sorta holder…"

"Oh, a sheath is provided for the sword. The ball is light, most just carry them under an arm I've noticed, or sling a bag over a shoulder for it." Replied the Shop keeper. "Just lean the blade against the wall while you test out the ball."

Jecht nodded as Auron snorted at the questions. The young man leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. With a sigh he rubbed his temples, a small headache growing, he hoped it was just tension and not a hangover from the fight earlier.

The blitzballer carefully set the sword against the wall and turned to aim at the target with the Triple Penalty. He struck the armor on the face plate, about where the eyes would be. The metal on the armor turned smoky black, a white band of color across the mouth. The ball returned with less than the considerable force Jecht packed on it.

"Ah! Darkness and Silence on the target!" Zhanpan clapped, "You are definably a trained Blitzballer. You will find the Triple Penalty will react in the air as if it's in the Sphere pool, a trick by my partner. It will also work in water." He rubbed his hands together, "So…do I have a match?"

Auron reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out the gil bag as Jecht nodded enthusiastically. "Let's see about that sword. Then we'll talk prices." He gestured at the black blade, "Put down the ball and take up the sword." He looped the bag's cords around a wrist and resettled against the wall.

The athlete set the ball on the floor and walked back over to the sword. He picked it up and held it awkwardly with a two handed grip. He walked over to the armor, the marks from the ball had faded to almost nothing. He looked at Auron, unsure on how to use the weapon.

"Slash with the sharp sides, swing it with your arms. As if it was a club." Auron called out, starting the instruction he was committed to give. "Don't worry about finesse yet. I will show you later if you can do some damage with this for now." He focused on Jecht and watched as the man pulled back the weapon. With a mighty swing, the man slammed the target with the sword. The armor collapsed, the pieces showing a blue color. The athlete nearly spin around with the momentum of the weapon, Auron tried not to snicker. But it was obvious that Jecht could swing the weapon. He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the man. "Let me move with it a moment."

Jecht reluctantly released the sword to Auron's waiting right hand. "Be careful with my lady there, she jus' got to know me, an' I don't wanna lose her to someone else!" He stepped back and then walked to where he had left the ball on the floor. Zhanpan rushed to the collapsed target and reset the manikin. Auron moved the weapon a little, back and forth, holding it straight out and sighting down the blade. It was straight, strong, the center of the weapon thicker, tapering to the sharp edges. The black blade was lighter than the Katana he was used to. As a Warrior-Monk, he had been trained on all sizes of swords and felt confident with them all. He settled the sword in his right hand, the blade held at the ready and turned to face the reconstructed armor. He slid his left foot forward, much like the fight earlier. His left hand rested lightly against his left thigh and he leaned his left shoulder forward. Auron let the tip of the blade drop to a fourty five degree angle, set with his right hand resting at his hip. He took a second to breathe and then ran forward toward the armor. He raised the sword and turned it so his right hand lead the swing. He twisted it so the sharp edge of the blade was the striking edge, snapping the blade by flexing his wrist. He diagonally struck the armor. As he hit the target he released a sharp yell. His left arm raised to counter balance the swing, placing it in a defensive position between the Monk and the blue colored, broken armor.

Jecht blinked as he compared what he had just done with Auron's technique. Yeah, he'd need a LOT of training. But he was assured that the stiff knew what he was doing. As he watched, Auron turned back and as he walked back to Jecht, he flipped the blade to rest on his shoulder. When he stood in front of the large man he slowly dropped the sword. He spun it around his right shoulder and presented it by the hilt, the body of the blade resting along his right arm. Jecht took the sword and nodded. "Okay, you can teach me." He held the sword in his right hand, the blitzball tucked under his left arm. With a smirk he looked at his new sword, "Welcome back, m'lady! Miss me?" He looked over at the Shopkeeper. "You said you had a …Sheef?... for her?"

Auron sighed, "A sheath." He over-enunciated the word. "A leather and wood cover for the blade, though I don't think the tip would work with a traditional one." He rubbed his chin and then shot a look over at Zhanpan. The shopkeeper nodded and walked back to the counter, he dropped the opening and took up a pad of parchment and a pencil.

"Now," He started marking on the parchment. "One specialty blitzball with three effects, one sword with three effects, a sheath, and rigging for the sword." He looked up, "Are you going to want to mount that sword on your back or on your side?"

Jecht shrugged and tossed a look at Auron, "I don't know. Mr. Fancy pants would be the one ta say that."

Mr. Fancy pants glared back and then took a second to think about it. "Back." He grumbled. "We will be packing light, and it will be better for him if it's out of his way. And I can teach him to shoulder draw." He crossed his arms, the gil bag gripped in his right hand. "How much?"

Zhanpan worked his figures, "Well, I know you are going on Pilgrimage. And you get the former Monk discount…" He taps the parchment. "1000 gill for each."

Auron frowned as he looked in the purse. "That's a bit much. I'll do 2000 gil if you include the rigging AND a pauldron and gauntlet with no effects."

Jecht zoned out as they haggled, bored now. He liked the new toys, but the deadly nature of the weapons set home the feeling that he had bitten off more than he could chew. These things were nasty pieces of work when you thought about it. They were made to rend things in half, blind and mute them. And that fight… Auron was getting ready to do some serious damage… that hit on his ears… damn. This new world, Spira, was a harsh place. People dying all over, and monsters outside every city. He grinned, well, after a beer or three, who cares? He'll make this an adventure! Rescue the princess, face the dragon.

Auron tapped the big man on the shoulder as he dropped the very much lighter gil pouch back into a pocket. "Let's get you fitted with your Pauldron and Gauntlet. Then we head to the outfitter, butcher and Temple." His voice was distant, his mind elsewhere and a scowl growing on his face.

The shopkeeper walked back to the armor section and brought out a metal set of shoulder armor that attached to an articulated arm and gauntlet. He fitted it carefully to Jecht's right arm and resting the load bearing brown leather strap around his neck. He made a series of movements showing the blitzer how to test the range of motion. Jecht tried moving and found it was relatively maneuverable, he felt he might even be able to swim with it. But it would take some time to get used to it. The older man set up a back rigging similar to what Auron had from Tak, the Al-Bhed origin between the two sets of leather straps obvious. With some adjustment, Jecht could slide the sword onto his back, locking by some metal mechanism to his back. With a sharp jerk, the sword would release and rest in his hand. He felt ready to go.

Auron gave the shopkeeper a warrior's hand grasp, taking the man's right forearm. "It's good to see you still have the skills from the Order. Perhaps, I shall need your services once again. We will pass through here on our way to Zanarkand, after Lord Braska has attained the other Aeons. If I have my Katana, only you will be able to return it to a perfect edge again. I fear it will see much use."

"Heh," Grunted Zhanpan, "If those idiots up at the Temple have melted your sword, remember what I said. I'll replace it."

Auron nodded and turned to leave. He motioned to Jecht to follow. He led out the door and back into the market district. He headed toward the Clothiers, taking a moment to stop at a butcher. He ordered a roast and asked it be delivered to Braska's house. As Auron set up the food delivery, Jecht wandered next door. His radar had detected a small bar was nearby and he was thirsty. He settled down in a chair near a window to watch for the red coat to walk past and ordered a beer. He tossed it back and ordered a second while he waited.

After he had finished with the Butcher, Auron walked out to look for Jecht. He noted the bar and grunted. He walked over to it and sure enough, there was the wild haired man. He was sprawled out on a chair near the window, a pitcher half drunk in front of him and a full glass of amber liquid. He was gesturing and laughing, obviously telling some sort of wild tale to a small group of people that were standing around. The monk sighed and gathered up his companion, gaining a chorus of derision aimed his way.

He motioned to the rest of the pitcher, "Fine. Finish that while I get my jug refilled." He stood at the bar, ignoring the snorting laughter from the table.

"Well, ya know I have a great responsibility to watch over this little guy! Jus' keep me in mind, cuz I'll be back around!" He grinned and flexed, chortling when he noticed Auron's posture turning to stone. "Someone's gotta make sure he gets back to mommy."

Auron settled his tokkuri on his right hip and turned to glare at Jecht. With a grumble, he grabbed the man by the shoulder and pulled him up to his feet. The large athlete wobbled a bit, but remained on his feet, the drained pitcher in his hand. "See! No sense of humor at all! Tragic!" he mocked as he was dragged out of the bar to applause. He set the empty pitcher on a table as he passed it.

"You are a complete waste..." Growled the warrior-monk as they headed out on the street, the sky starting to show the first signs of early evening. "Of all the times to … indulge." He stopped and looked the swaggering man up and down. His ire clear on his face as he put both hands on his hips. "We are getting ready for a journey that is both sacred and, I don't know how many times we have to say it, DEADLY. Do you think getting smashed and mocking me is going to make the chances of your survival any better!?" He was growling, the baritone of his voice not the least bit soft and every word enunciated clearly. "If you let yourself go like this, and I am taken out." He rested a hand on his forehead, "Lord Braska would be depending on YOU", and he pushed a finger into the center of the man's bare chest. "And if you are as…useless… as you are now, he would die. You would die." He looked into the man's fiery eyes, angered as he saw the glazed nature of Jecht's returned gaze. "And all our efforts would be a waste. Braska's child would go without a Calm or a Father. And Spira would continue to be a place of death."

Jecht just stared at the young man, he grasped the back of his neck, not really understanding at all. "But… this place is crazy, Red! I need the booze to cope! I'll be fine, I fight better this way!" He threw up his hands, mocking the stance of a boxer. "Can't feel pain. So I'll be even more powerful."

Auron just shook his head, the man was just not getting it. He sighed and motioned to Jecht to follow him. He silently led the athlete into the market district and towards the Al-Bhed shop he had been to previously. His jaw clenched and his eyes flashing.

They arrived at Tak's shop, Jecht stayed quiet as Auron talked with the shopkeeper. It was a simple matter of measuring the man and settling on the colors and styles. The Monk was purging his ire as he diverted himself with the task at hand and he took the chance to order a backup set of clothes, black sleeveless shirt and gray pants. Jecht was dubious about the boots, and not happy with the idea of a coat. Auron informed the man he had no choice, and ordered the items anyway. Tak told them that the clothes would be ready in a few days and happily took Braska's credit.

Jecht watched as Auron's temper changed, he became tense. Any communication with the man was becoming monosyllabic. He supposed it was this strange objection to his buzz. He shrugged, the alcohol was passing anyway, and he was fine. Jecht looked over the young man, the monk needed to let whatever it was go. He decided to try to bring the guy out of his shell a little as they headed out of Tak's shop.

"Hey, Red," The large man tapped the other on the leather pauldron, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Hn", a non-committal grunt was the reply. Auron was focused on getting them through the gathering evening crowds in the market district to the stairs that lead to the side of the Temple complex where the Warrior-Monks had their compound. He really didn't want to play with the annoying man he had been working with all day.

"No, really!" Jecht packed a metric ton of sarcasm into his growl, "You don't say."

Auron sighed, "What?" He looked up at the craggy face of the athlete, a slight raise to his right eyebrow.

"What, what?" Jecht teased. "You go much quieter, I'm gonna haveta try sign language." He rested his right hand on his hip as he walked, the left hand dangling near the spiked ball he now owned.

"It's not going to matter if I ask you to drop it, is it?"

"Nope."

Auron ran a hand through his hair, sighed and then shook his head. "It's easier if you just wait. I know patience isn't a virtue with you, but try." He gestured to the stairs they approached. "This will take us up to the Temple complex. Once there, we will be entering the Compound." He paused as they climbed up the stairs, "They are not going to be pleased to see me."

"Well, do ya haveta have this one particular sword? You saw how many that Zangeif guy had." Jecht motioned back the way they had come.

"Zhanpan." Replied the young man, "And yes."

"Why?"

"Because."

They had made it to the top of the stairs. Auron led them around to the left and headed toward a stone walled area with a deep red wooden door. It had black Iron reinforcement and a young boy dressed in bright orange robes with one arm and shoulder bare.

Jecht blew out a frustrated breath. "That ain't no answer, ya know." He raised his voice, "How 'm I supposed to learn how ta be a good whatchamacallit for Braska if you don't educate me!?"

"Learn by observance. Listen when people speak to each other. Practice patience." Auron rattled the instructions off as if my rote. "I can't hold your hand and explain everything. I need to be ready for what lies ahead." He gestured to the door.

Jecht grumbled and followed. "Well, you suck as a teacher."

Auron let that one go. He walked up to the boy and pulled a full formal bow. He raised his right hand over his head, grasping his right forearm with his left hand. In a fluid move, he circled his torso with the two arms, bringing them together to clutch an invisible ball at his solar plexus over which he bowed. The young boy copied the move.

"Please inform the Weapons Master that Auron is here for his weapon." He said softly to the boy.

The boy's reaction bothered Jecht, with a gasp of terror, the child stared at Auron. He swallowed and nodded, saying in a shaky voice, "Of course, sir!" He then dashed through the door, it closed on his yell, "WEAPONS MASTER AQUAGIS! HE'S HERE!"

Auron sighed and walked over to the stone wall, he settled against the hard, cool surface. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. Jecht stood there for a moment, waiting to see what would happen next. He started to fidget, snapping his fingers, clapping one fist into the open palm of the other, and pacing.

"On our journey, we will have to wait for Lord Braska many times. Quietly, so we do not disturb his prayers to the Fayth." He looked up at the man, wondering if he had some sort of nervous disorder. "It may be wise for you to work on waiting quietly."

"I AM waiting quietly!" whined the large man, throwing a hand through his unruly black hair.

Auron sighed and grudgingly agreed that for the bombastic athlete, he probably WAS being quiet. With a shrug, he settled back against the wall, he felt the tension in his shoulders increase and the headache from before returning to plague him. He glanced at Jecht when the man started to whistle the Hymn of the Fayth softly, blinking that the man knew the sacred song of Yevon. It was then the boy returned, obviously scared out of his wits.

"Master Aquagis is waiting for you inside. He didn't say anything about another…" The boy's voice was shaking, Auron couldn't tell what had the boy so riled up.

The former monk gestured at Jecht, replying to the boy, "He's with me."

The boy nodded and opened the door for them. As they walked into the large open courtyard, Auron grabbed Jecht by the armored arm, "From here on out, do not speak unless directly addressed. Keep your weapons to yourself, and do not move in any aggressive manner. You are surrounded by the best fighters Yevon has to offer. And I am not sure what will happen."

Jecht nodded, taking the hint and staying quiet. He apparently did have a thought in that large head of his despite being three sheets to the wind.

Auron released the man and turned to gaze over the courtyard. Twenty young men in robes similar to the boy's only darker orange moved in step with each other through open hand combat moves to the right, following the barked orders of a man in a red stained version of the robe. All had the right shoulder and arm bare. Auron took a second to recognize the kata, one he had used previously to warm up, only at speed. He then scanned the back wall, his katana was pounded into the wall, point first, a banner hanging from it. Written on the banner was the rules of conduct for the Order. He continued to scan the area and standing near the sword was an older man, robes a deep red, same as his own coat. Scars and knots marred the skin on his arms, his face had the marks of battle. An ink vine scar on his left cheek, he was bald and had piercing black eyes.

"I see someone has come to claim a sword that is owned by the Order." He barked in a voice that was rough, but carried over the sounds in the courtyard, most likely honed in battle.

"I am." Auron replied, voice carrying over the silence as the men to the right stopped mid kata. Some crossing their arms, others frowning, and a few slamming fists into open palms.

Jecht, for his part, decided to take it easy. He backed to lean against the wall next to the door. He tossed the blitzball back and forth between his hands, just in case.

"You are not a member of the Order, Auron. Only those who are dedicated to the brotherhood may wield this weapon. I will not have my handy work out in the world in the hands of a criminal."

"Never the less. You were ordered to surrender it to me." Auron stood respectfully, but his fists were clenched at his sides.

"I would see proof that you are still worthy of the weapon. How do you wish to prove yourself?"

The young men, dedicated of the order, grumbled and gestured. They obviously didn't want Auron to walk off with one of the iconic katana. It would mean a censured Monk would represent the Order.

The older man continued, "I have grown to enjoy my new banner holder. I do not wish to lose it."

"I will walk the Gauntlet, Weapons Master." Auron offered. "Will that prove my worth?"

"The man who wielded that weapon last could walk through my dedicated as water through reeds, if he was armed." Aquagis crossed his massive arms, "You will walk the Gauntlet with only your fists." He turned to the other red robed monk, "Keirin, gather your students and acquire staves for them. Then form the Gauntlet for this man." He turned to glare at Auron, "You have the time it takes them to ready themselves to prepare."

Auron silently nodded. The other monk, yelling at the group of young men, martialed them to the racks against the right wall. There stout cherry wood bo staves were racked. The youngest of the dedicated bolted to the racks and started tossing staves to each of his brothers. They then began to form a pathway, straight from where Auron stood. It ended where the black blade had been mounted in the wall. For Jecht, this was a strange, and very disturbing set of events. He understood now why Auron had been so quiet. He was expecting this. The athlete watched as the very large group of young men, some the same age as Auron himself, gathered up weapons and formed a path of pain.

Auron, meanwhile, had sunk to the floor, kneeling in meditation. He took a moment to remove the buckles on his right and left wrists, opening up the red coat. He slipped out of the arms and folded the top of the coat over, tying the arms to the waist. He then settled his hands on his thighs. Jecht frowned, he did the math. Auron was going to face 20 wooden staves, in a thin black cotton shirt. He didn't like the odds, no matter how much training the stiff had, this was a set up. He walked forward and whispered loudly at the quietly meditating man.

"Red, man," he reached up to grasp the hilt of his weapon, "Take my Lady. With you fighting alone, this isn't a fair fight!"

The Young men paused in their activities, each glaring at the man who had grabbed a weapon. Auron hissed back, "Put your hand down, Jecht. Quickly."

Jecht did as he was told, confusion on his face. "But…?"

"This is just what I expected. Settle down and watch. You will someday have to stand up to a rank of fiends, this is a lesson for you and a test for me." He closed his eyes again as he spoke. "I must prove myself to them, I am not worried. Just be ready in case I fail." He paused and looked up at Jecht, "Someone will have to tell Lord Braska I will not be participating in the Pilgrimage if I do not succeed."

"Whaddya mean?" He looked at the others as the monks finished forming the aisle of bodies to the Sword.

"This will be to the death." He spoke with no emotion. "They will have a priest or healer ready, but not for me. I am to face this challenge with nothing but my own hands and mind." He then carefully detached his white tokkuri from his belt. He set it on the floor and slid it over to Jecht. "If you can, please leave me some."

Jecht stared. He grabbed the sake and moved back to the door. Now, more than ever ready to loose his blitzball on the group facing Auron.

"Stand up and be tested, Auron." The old man ground out the name with contempt. He looked down at the other monk standing in the ranks of his dedicated. "I said before, I like my new banner right where it is. I do expect you will do all you can to make sure it stays right there." He waited for Keirin to nod slowly and turn to his men. Whispered words passed through the ranks of orange-red robed men. As this progressed, the Weapons Master motioned to a waiting acolyte, a boy in the bright orange robes. "Go to the Temple and acquire me a white mage or priest. Make sure that they are versed in Cura and Full-life."

Jecht blinked. Auron had said there would be a priest of healer, so was this about that? He looked back at the stiff, and he shook his head. Auron was standing, a blank expression on his face. Before he moved, he formally bowed again to the group this time. A silent acknowledgement of respect for ones opponent before battle.

"Begin."

Slowly, Auron walked to the first pair of monks. As he approached, they shot looks at each other. One tapped the floor, the other raised his staff. As Auron walked abreast of them, hands loose and open at his sides, the men simultaneously swung their weapons. Hardened cherry wood flew at Auron's head and knees. With a grunt, he raised his fists, the meat of his forearms forming a shield for his face, as he lept up. He took the hit on his arms and landed with his left boot pinning the low striking staff to the floor. Quickly he slid his arms along the upper staff and grasped the wood with his hands. As the monk wielding that weapon was to his right, he jerked to the left and then struck with all his might to the right. Aiming the end of the Bo into the boy's throat. He then rotated his body, smashing the other boy struggling to free his weapon with an overhand blow to the head and face. Two down and weapon acquired, he moved to the next pair.

Jecht barely followed the action, Auron was FAST. He was taking no quarter and giving none as well. The boy who had been hit in the throat was barely able to breathe and the other was out like a light, blood trickling from the top of his head. He continued to dribble the Blitzball between his hands, just in case. No one was going to leave him alone to guard Braska. That was not happening.

As Auron moved through the pairs of monks, systematically downing each one, the monk at the end of the line looked significantly at his partner. The young man flashed the red robed monk something metal buried in his left palm. A feral grin passed between them. Blows traded back and forth, the next two pairs of monks falling to Auron's spinning staff. The fourth pair took a different tack. One stepped back, forcing Auron to choose which opponent to face. When the ex-monk chose his target, they struck with full force against the center of the Bo staff he carried. The staff split in two, causing Auron to change fighting styles mid combat. Though he was an accomplished fighter, this slowed him down. The opponent to his back swung with all his might at the young man's head. Auron spun the halves of the staff around, bringing the broken edges to the fore. With his left hand he reached up and to the side, placing the crude han-bo in the way of the incoming head shot. He treated the piece as if it was a short sword. Auron's right hand weapon knocked the other boy's staff to the side and quickly sunk the sharp end into the soft gut of his target. He left the broken wood imbedded in the dedicated and turned around, quickly using the half-staff to strike at the other boy. At the sight of his partner dropping, blood gushing around the red wood, the boy screamed. Auron took his shot, slashing the other dedicated across the face with the broken, splintered end of his short staff. He walked on, scooping up another staff.

Jecht swallowed, Auron was killing them. The red coat flying around his legs, the man was a dervish. But he was not getting through cleanly. He took hits on his back, legs, arms and face. The black cotton shirt was torn, welts showing on his exposed arms. He grinned with a feral gleam as he spit blood from his smashed mouth. Behind him, orange-robed acolytes dragged the wounded and dying back away from the combat, to the waiting priest. No-one stayed down long, the ranks of defeated sitting, leaning or collapsed against the left wall of the courtyard. The old man, a dark scowl on his face, crossed his arms and watched the combat.

The Gauntlet continued, more pairs of dedicated fell to the circular strikes of the former Warrior-monk. It soon came down to the last few ranks. Auron was tiring, he had no potions or time to gather up more strength. This was the true nature of the test. Fresh fighters taking advantage of the long string of damage and expended energy of the lone opponent who walked the line. The Monk Keirin had strategically placed the best of his dedicated in the final two ranks with him. Three men nearly ready to take the vows and trade their orange robes for red. He nodded to them and they formed a box around the panting Auron.

Auron was hurt. He was limping, his face a bloody mess, cuts over his eyes draining blood into them. He was breathing hard, and his technique was slipping. Not as fluid or as graceful as when he started, he still had his prodigious strength and a determined look in his eyes. He waited, glancing and listening for the first sign that an attack was coming.

The boy to his left back, taking advantage of the near blinding cut over that side's eye, silently moved to jab at Auron. As the ex-monk swung his staff to block, the dedicated on the opposite corner swiftly swung. Auron took a powerful hit to the shoulder, dropping his head to protect it. A crack was heard across the courtyard, the staff broken over the limb. Auron grunted, and his right hand fell open. Jecht hissed, he saw how limp that limb was, he knew what a broken shoulder looked like. The ex-monk kicked his staff up with his right leg, taking the length under his left arm he pivoted on his back left foot. He managed to push the four back. He dropped the full size Bo staff and rolled forward, grasping the broken end of the other staff that fell on his right. He thrust the broken end up, pushing from the floor with both legs. The pointed end of the staff did its dirty work and the one who broke his shoulder was down. The others moved forward, one of the two remaining dedicated slid to behind the warrior.

Auron grunted again, quickly ignoring the sharp pain blossoming in his lower left back. He tossed a side kick, pushing and pummeling the other dedicated target into the ground. He delivered repeated quick sharp blows to the man's head and face. He then spun to face the last of the dedicated. Keirin struck at that point, from the right side. He smashed his staff against Auron's right side, defenseless as the arm was useless there. He then reversed his swing and took out the young man's right knee.

Auron gasped and fell to his left knee. He struck out with his left hand, baring the broken and bloody staff and striking the legs of the dedicated he was dropped in front of. The boy went down screaming, a wooden staff piercing his leg just above the knee. The exhausted ex-monk rolled forward over the dropping dedicated. He pulled himself around and up on his left leg close to the wall. With one arm out and his right leg unstable, Auron leaned against the wall. He pulled himself up, using the wall as support. He focused his defence on his left side. The red robed monk moved forward, a cocky grin on his face. He tossed the bo staff away and reached into his robes. Keirin drew a gleaming tanto knife, and licked his lips.

Auron waited, he blinked the blood and sweat out of his eyes. His right side smashed against the wall, he was at least partially secure, but pinned to one spot. His agility was not available to him. The red robed monk danced forward, hiding the blade in his right hand, he feinted with his left. Auron blocked the blow and used the wall, directing the fist into it. The man grunted, and followed with a quick jab with the knife, spinning it in his hand. Auron rolled to the left, stopping himself with his destroyed right leg. He cried out in pain, and the leg dropped him down. The knife edge threw sparks as the monk Kierin dragged the tip along the wall. The former monk reached up with his left hand and grasped his opponent's wrist. He dragged the man to the ground with him as he fell the rest of the way down to the floor. He twisted the knife hand and with the last of his great strength he pressed the knife back on the monk. With a grunt he shoved the knife into the vulnerable neck of his opponent.

He rolled Keirin over and looked at the eyes of the dying man, and growled, "Not today." He laid on the bloody courtyard floor, gasped and tried to gather his breath. He slowly levered himself up with his left hand on the wall. He got up and again tried his right leg, it folded and he used the wall to catch himself. Jecht shook his head. Just let it go, man. He thought. But, Auron was not going to get through all of the Gauntlet and then fail to retrieve his weapon. He hobbled over to the embedded sword and reached up with his left hand, he gasped as he felt something pull in his back. With a frown he reached back and pulled out a short knife. With a growl he flicked it at the feet of the Weapon Master and returned to grasping his sword. With a burst of strength, he pulled the sword out of the stone wall. The tip was bent, the edge ruined by the force of the blow to set it there. He could not mount the blade on his right shoulder, as his arm and shoulder did not work. He settled for grasping it in his left hand, using it as a crutch as he had with the wall before.

"You are worthy, Guardian Auron." The Weapons Master intoned as the wounded man hobbled back toward his companion. "Do not return here." The old monk turned his attention to the twenty one men in the care of the priest. He snorted, it was a crying shame. They trained this man, shaped a great warrior. That Summoner was a lucky man and the Order was diminished.

Auron painfully made his way toward Jecht. The Athlete smacked his head and dashed forward. He supported the ex-monk on Auron's right side. The former monk was near senseless, holding on to Jecht as waves of pain, ignored in the heat of battle washed over him. Jecht held the tokkuri in his hand, the blitzball held by the other hand that supported Auron's weight.

"Here, Red." The large man spoke with respect, "Take a sip. It'll help."

Auron nodded, he handed his sword to Jecht and took up the clay mug with his left hand. He started sipping the sake, using the potent drink to smooth over the pain. They passed the open door to the Warrior-Monk compound, a small, shivering acolyte holding it open. No more than three feet from the door, Jecht noticed that his companion was weighing more and more on his side. Blood was dripping from somewhere on his left side, his breath was turning ragged and shallow.

"Whoa, there. I can't carry you and all this stuff!" He grunted and shifted Auron so more of his weight could be supported by his left arm and side. Jecht turned and glared at the kid at the door. "Hey, you! Go in there and get that priest guy!"

"He…can't… help." Mumbled Auron.

"Bull! You're hurt bad." Jecht had to stop, juggling the huge Katana, the blitz ball and the collapsing Auron was too much. He gently laid the young man on the ground. The door flew open, the acolyte leading the priest to where Auron had fallen. With grand gestures, he cast a healing spell on the downed Guardian. The wound in his back closed enough and some energy returned.

Auron levered himself up again. With the help of his fellow Guardian, he made it back to the weapons shop before his strength gave out again. Jecht was beside himself, he ran into the shop and called for Zhanpan. The old shopkeeper had some potions just in case of accidents and tossed them to Jecht. He then followed out and took possession of the damaged weapon.

He shook his head sadly, "I don't want to know what Aquagis did with this weapon, do I?" Zhanpan looked over Jecht and the unconscious Auron. "I'll work on fixing up this blade. Take him back to Braska, I'm sure there will be something he can do."

Jecht nodded and tossed Auron on his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He tied the jug on his own hip and put his ball under his free arm. He moved as quickly as he could back to Braska's little house. He didn't even knock, but instead kicked the door open. The sun was setting behind him, casting him in stark relief against the blazing colors of the sky behind him, he was roaring.

"BRASKA!" he stumbled into the house. "BRASKA GIT OUT HERE!"

Gemma gasped from the kitchen, she turned and pushed the tea kettle into the fire and gathered up some cloths. Braska came charging from the back of the house, his daughter following behind. He looked at the rapidly deteriorating situation and started chanting and moving his hands. Auron was laid down on the couch, Gemma scooting forward just before to get the bedding off the end. Braska cast Cura, the second most powerful healing spell and the most powerful he knew. Auron gasped as the powerful spell washed across his body.

"What happened?" The healer demanded as he looked over the wreckage of his patient. He shot a glare at Jecht.

"He went to the Temple and … "Jecht looked at where Yuna was hiding near the hallway and shrugged, "He had to fight a lot of guys to get his damn sword back. They had a priest there for the guys, but they wouldn't help him except for a little spell."

Braska nodded, he feared something like this would happen. His interview with the Maester of Defence went too smoothly. "Where were you?" He started to look over the broken arm and smashed knee as he talked. "You two are going to have to learn to work together. If this happened on the trail…" he sighed, "I can only heal so much. Major injuries can take weeks to heal right and it will delay our journey."

"He tole me ta stay outta it." Jecht mumbled guiltily, "Said it was his thing. I offered him my sword. But he went ahead and took them all on with just his bare hands."

"All? How many?" Braska asked as he started to set the broken bones and stressed joints.

"Twenty or so, anna Monk. Coupla of 'em used knives on him. The rest had sticks."

Braska nodded and, after casting another Cura, looked over the monk. He found the wound on the back, closed over by the cure spells, the deep cut still open underneath. He examined the wound, he didn't like the color of the flesh surrounding it. Brackish green lines were forming around the cut, something else was going on. He let the man lay back down and then turned to look at his face. The Curas had done most of the work already, closing up cuts and healing bruises. The swelling was going down around the man's eyes. Braska lightly slapped the man on the cheek. "Auron?"

Auron slowly opened his eyes. He did a parts check, realizing that his arm and knee were set, healing under the power of some healing spells. He then looked up at this Charge. "My Lord?"

"Do the Monks in your old Order have a rule against poisoning their blades?"

Jecht, feeling about as useful as a chocobo on ice, had moved to the door and shut it. He watched as Gemma hustled forward with hot water, a large bowl and cloths for her Master. The housekeeper took that moment to walk back to the girl and escort Yuna out of the room. He released his sword and set it against the wall, resting the blitzball next to it as he watched the two leave. He took the tokkuri and knocked back a good swig. He then walked to the large reading chair and lounged in it. He had worked up a good tired hauling Auron on his back. The young man was solidly built, and heavy.

"Some do. It's not technically wrong. Just not encouraged." He looked at Braska's face, a small look of worry beginning to grow, "Why?"

"You took a knife hit and it looks bad. I think you have been poisoned." He stood back and began to start casting again. "I'm going to cast Esuna, which should take care of any lingering poison." He started to chant.

Auron sighed and relaxed, there was nothing else to be done until the healing spells were cast and the recovery could begin. He noted that Jecht was taking a pass at his tokkuri, with grimace he closed his eyes and let sleep drift in.

Thanks for reading! Please review! Desperately seeking feedback! See you next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

The Road Less Traveled

Chapter 4:

The lateness of the evening made dinner a quiet affair. Yuna was a droopy eyed zombie, eating the stew and biscuits mechanically, her mind exhausted after the stress of the two Guardian's loud and abrupt arrival. Braska was little better, having exhausted a good supply of inner energy to heal up his badly wounded guardian. He mirrored his daughter, almost move for move matching her mechanical consumption of the repast. Jecht, on the other hand, was relishing the meal, tossing back quite a few bowls and completely annihilating the savory biscuits. He washed the whole meal down with more of the fresh sake he had appropriated from Auron's jar.

Braska looked over at his second Guardian, the tired gaze returned with a red-eyed blurry one. He sighed and motioned to the hallway. "Jecht, I have blankets and pillows in the linen closet. Make yourself at home, but please, keep it quiet for Auron. He will need rest." Braska stood slowly and gathered up his daughter, resting her sleepy form against his chest, her head laying on his shoulder. "Good night, rest well. And I will see you on a much better morning." He turned and walked to Yuna's room, absently rubbing his child's back in soothing circles, listening to her breaths even out in his ear.

Gemma had no words, she was frustrated and scared for her master. He had brought this rough and wild element into the quiet household. Defending the drunks and accepting what would be unacceptable at the worst of times. She shook her head and glowered as she cleared up the remains of the meal and gathered up her things for the walk home. She looked around the kitchen, upset at the events that had happened yet curious as to how this would all work out. She closed the door behind her softly as she left the small home for the day.

* * *

Braska sat in the darkness of his room, swallowed by the large bed he had shared with his wife. He had tried to sleep but his mind was not yet willing to let go. With a sigh he knew his habits and instead of just staring at the ceiling, he pulled his pillows into a makeshift backrest against the headboard of his bed. He reached to the nightstand and unshielded a small oil lamp that burned as a nightlight. Bringing the illumination up just enough to see marks on paper, he then gathered up a pen and a brand new journal he had purchased for the trip. Extra weight it may be, but Braska felt that this journey was significant. And he wanted to record his thoughts, experiences and sights for others to see. How it would get back to the archives in Bevelle was a thought he left for another day.

He settled the journal on his lap and cradled the spine with his left hand. He put pen to paper and began to write.

_I have gathered to me a most ironic group of men for my sacred journey across the face of Spira. The Church has cast us off, called us fools and allowed us the freedom of the insane. I, the heretic, choosing the lost tribe over his own God. I still believe, if love such as ours was allowed to blossom, to bear the fruit it has, it cannot be wrong. The Al-Bhed do not follow the teachings, and I have begun think they may be right to do so. I have seen the forbidden secret of Yevon. The Temple here is full of machina! The church is more afraid that the tribe of mechanics will undo their secrets, I think, than bring any extra burden from Sin._

_ My Yuna has grown so much in the time I've spent with her. This last month I have seen her more than the last year! Since I sent her to be schooled in the magic of the church, I have focused on the preparation for this Pilgrimage. It is as if she turned from a care free child to a sad shadow of her mother. As if my dear Nassu was looking at me through the daughter's eyes. Oh, my beloved, if you could see her now, your little girl is going to be stronger in white magic than even her father. And her soul is pure, full of love and empathy for the people of this doomed world. _

_ It is because of Nassu I even contemplate destroying what was my life, my faith, my religion. The gift of being with you, the sacrifices I make turning Spira from the hot pain of Sin to the cool release of the Calm will be worth it. I must focus on that, my reward is assured, in the end. I cannot wait to leave this grey spiral of death and be with you for eternity. We will be together again. _

_ I am constantly shocked by the two men I have found to accompany me. Auron, so young and loyal, programmed by the very church I loathe to be the perfect man for my protection. His eyes watch for me, even walking to the temple or to the store. He has sacrificed his health just to gain back his most favored weapon. I feel as if he has decided his life, his flesh as barriers solely for my protection and prosperity. Something drives him, perhaps hidden from his own thoughts, to be just what this journey requires. He is my chosen Guardian, the First Guardian, the leader. I praise the Fayth that I can turn the burden of the daily operation of this Pilgrimage onto him. _

_ Jecht is the symbol of just how wrong Spira has become. I completely believe he is from a great mythical machina city. The self-same city that we will end our journey in: Zanarkand. His knowledge of things is proof in my eyes. He has not lived here in this world for long and he screams with every word that he just wants to get back home. His rough manners rub my First Guardian so wrong, it is comical to see them try to communicate. But, I feel that Auron's discipline would be a great thing to rub off on Jecht. AND, Jecht's attitude would be a great balance for the overly serious young man. Together they could be unstoppable, if they could work out their differences. A project that will distract me from the tedium of the long walk._

_ Now I look upon the last few days before we must give ourselves to the long Pilgrimage. I must leave my little Yuna, turn my eyes to the road ahead. And forge two men into the perfect guard for my walk._

He sets the pen down, closing the book and wrapping the leather straps around the thick journal. He lays them down on his nightstand and covers the flame. He settles into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

Auron awoke to the sound of conversation. The light of the sun fully flooding the room he was sleeping in, two voices were talking quietly nearby. The soft voice of a little girl and the rough voice of the athlete. He was surprised the man could talk so softly. With as little sound as possible he opened his eyes and turned his head so he could see into the room. Sitting in the middle of the floor, on a pair of bright pink blankets was Jecht and Yuna. He was telling her about some sort of fantastic world where fountains of water flowed up and around tall buildings that stood taller than the highest mountain. The monk was amused, what kind of place would have lights that turned on by themselves at night? What kind of decadence that would bring, he wondered.

He took that quiet time to take stock of how he was feeling. The bones had been healing all night it seemed, his shoulder barely stiff and his leg not sore at all. He had a lingering headache and weakness, the after effect of losing so much blood. Potions and healing spells can accelerate the healing processes, but they cannot replace the body's fluids. That would take time. The conversation had stopped as he was distracted by his thoughts. He focused back on the two in the room, noting that they had turned to focus on him.

"Good Mornin', Red. Your gonna need som' more a that stuff in the jar." Jecht greeted the waking monk. "I was jus' telling little Yuna here about Zanarkand."

"How would you like to work on learning how to fight with your new sword in the back yard in a little bit?" He asked, mentally growling at the fact that he would have to pay to fill his tokkuri again. "I am tired, but I can still instruct you. And I feel the fresh air might help."

Jecht shrugged and looked at the child he was sitting with. "You wanna watch Uncle Jecht work out in the yard?" He asked, as smooth as the growling timber of his voice would allow. "I bet it would be fun!" He smiled at the little girl.

Yuna nodded, but then got a look in her eyes, "You won't fight like last time?" She asked. "I don't like it when you fight."

Auron paused in his process to get up from the couch and looked at Yuna with a soft smile, "I give you my word. We will not fight like that."

Jecht echoed the young monk, "Yeah!" He grunts, "We just got 'em all healthy and stuff! Why would I beat on 'em again?" He shoots Auron a grin, "'Sides, it's no fun when he's all whimpering and aching!"

Auron looked at Jecht, his left eyebrow raising slightly, but his expression is neutral. Yuna giggled, jumping up and running for the back yard, pausing only to grab a pink blanket to sit on.

The sun was bright over head as the two men walked into the back yard. Jecht had on his armor and carried his sword on his back. He had left his new boots behind and wore only his black shorts and orange half-sarong. The straps for his back mounted sheath crossing over his tattoo. Auron followed, pulling his coat on and carrying his back harness for his own blade in his left hand. He stopped at the door and took a moment to breathe the fresh air. His Katana was still at the weapons shop, perhaps later he would get a chance to go retrieve it.

Yuna sat like an angel on the pink blanket she had thrown on the ground. She smiled and waved at the two men as they each made it into the back yard. She was right where she had sat with her Father before, at the edge of the cleared lawn, back to the vegetables growing in their ordered rows. She watched as they talked, a smile on her face.

Auron turned to face Jecht. He looked at the other man and shook his head. "Well, I don't know if you expect to never be hit, but that outfit is not very protective." He gestured to his own gear, "I prefer to be a bit more armored."

"Heh! I don't expect to just stand there and take anythin'" The athlete rumbled. "The less I have to weigh me down the better!" He pounds his chest with his fists, "I'm quicker and tougher than I look!"

"All right." The warrior monk nodded, "Let's get started. Hand me your sword and I'll show you how to hold it so you don't lose it. Fiends can and do know ways to disarm you. So do other fighters." He holds out his right hand.

Jecht pulled the sword from his back and handed it over to Auron. He then walked to stand right next to the young man, observing what he did. Auron, having received the sword, grasped the hilt of the weapon near the middle. He showed how to tighten the muscles of his wrist and forearm to hold the blade, "You must think of the sword as an extension of your arm. It's a part of you. Much like a wolf has claws at the ends of its paws. The wolf doesn't think about them as anything other than a part of himself. So should you think of this blade."

Jecht nodded, "Itsa good thing I like it then!" he growled. He took the sword back and grasped the hilt the same way. He frowned as Auron looked over the grip and checked his forearm. "Hey, remember, I'm still learnin' here."

"It's better to start out with good techniques. That way you don't mess up when the fight is upon you." Auron's voice was calm, "Now, let us work on your stance." He moves to stand side by side with the Blitzer, he sets his feet shoulder width apart, balanced on the front of the feet, his weight on the toes. He then steps back with his left foot, still keeping the heel up off the ground and resting fully on his right. He squares his shoulders, placing his hands one over the other, about 4 inches apart and out before him. If he had a sword it would be angled at an opponent's throat. "This is a starting stance. Your shoulders should be relaxed, the weight of your sword balanced between your hands. Try it."

Jecht, getting bored already with the slow careful pace his erstwhile instructor is setting, moves to match the monk. He sets his sword at the same angle. "And?"

"Just hold it there." Auron replies, a tone of humor to his voice. He slowly walks around the man, helping adjust here and there until the athlete's body is correct. Jecht's arms begin to burn a little, holding the weight of the large blade in just his forearms and upper arms as Auron takes his sweet time. He is using muscles that are trained for something completely different.

"Hey, you done?" Jecht growls as his arms start to shake a little, the blade exaggerating the motion as the tip swings a little.

"Just keep holding it." The warrior-monk replies, calm neutrality in his voice.

"When are ya gonna show me how to actually USE this thing?" Anger filling the jocks voice. He glances around and sees Auron standing near Yuna, chatting with her. "REALLY!?" he shouts. He lets the blade drop and shakes his right fist at the man. "You got time ta talk to little girls and you let me just stand out here in the sun, roastin' and learnin' nothing! You still suck as a teacher!"

Auron looks up from his conversation with Yuna, "I didn't say this would be easy. You need to strengthen your muscles in a different way than you do for Blitzball." He straightens up and sighs, "But I see that you wish more action."

"Damn straight!" Jecht moved back to the stance he had been taught. Auron walks over to the garden and looks for a stick to use, in place of his own blade. He then moves to stand beside the athlete, his stick in the same angle as Jecht's sword. He then pulled the stick slowly back so that it was above his head. He looked over to see if the large man was following his moves. Jecht was following, stretching his arms and pulling the sword up to match Auron's stick.

"Hold." Barked the monk. He then moved around the man, correcting little flaws and making sure the angle was correct. He then moved back to where he was before, taking up the same position. He then slowly moved the stick, "slashing" an enemy from the top of his head down through the shoulder and across his chest. He then nodded to Jecht, "Move."

Auron watched as Jecht slowly copied the move. Then, the athlete started back at the first stance, moving smoothly through the motions to draw up the sword and then slash downward. He looked up at the warrior-monk.

"Good?" He asked, looking at Auron's face.

"Good enough." Stated the stoic young man. "Now I need you to think. When you are poised to strike," He stands before Jecht and takes the stance with the sword up and ready, "You are vulnerable. Look at what is open, what you can attack while I hold this stance."

Jecht stepped forward and pointed, "Face, throat, neck, chest, and…" He grins, pointing lower. "Well, ya'know." He stepped back, "So I don't use that one? Why'd you show it to me?"

Auron lets the stick down, resting it on the ground by its tip. "Because it is the most powerful of the strikes. All your body moves that sword when you strike that way. But you must remember that to do that strike is to open yourself up. An opponent must be cowed, intimidated by you so they do not strike. A man is easy to fool, the fiends, not so much." He returns to stand next to the large man. "Now, I will show you a few guards." He moves the stick back to the first position and lowers the tip, so it is pointing at the ground. "This protects your lower body." He waits until Jecht has matched his stance. He then brings the stick back to the first stance. He then brings his arms closer, angling the stick so it is slightly bent back. "This protect you from all sides." He shows that by twisting his torso he can place the blade on either side. Last he brings the stick to his left side, the tip is behind him. "And this sets up a side slash and hides the blade from your opponent." He quickly swings the stick out and across where an enemy would be.

Jecht may be an annoying obnoxious drunk, but he learned quickly. He followed all the different stances and started to string them together as Auron stood back and set his stick down. He tried each position until he got comfortable with them. When he was finished, Auron had settled down next to Yuna on the grass, he was resting his arms on his knees, looking tired. "You OK?" the athlete asked, "You look bushed."

"My stamina is low." Replied the other man, "Healing is well and good. But I need time to regain my strength. It is good that Lord Braska is at the Temple today, gaining his last bit of training and we are not leaving quite yet." He yawned. "Practice those stances and you should be on your way to using that sword effectively."

"Right." Jecht nodded and continued to work through the positions as Auron laid back in the grass, the sun on his face and napped, his head resting on his folded arms. Yuna looked over the young monk, as he rested, she pulled out a picture book and rested it against his chest, reading as Jecht grunted and exercised in the yard. The tired young man didn't even wake up.

* * *

Braska walked through the Temple, he had finished his last bits of study and felt ready to being the trial to become officially a Summoner. He was headed to the Priest in charge of the Cloister of Trials, hoping to get permission to attempt the difficult set of tasks. He walked up to the door to the Cloister. There, resting on a bench was the priest. Braska bowed formally to the man.

"What are you doing here, Priest Braska?" The old man asked. "This is for Summoners." He dismissively waved his hand at the man in red and purple robes.

"That is why I am here, Priest of the Cloister. I wish to try my hand at gaining the aeon of Bevelle." Braska spoke with a formal tone of voice, hiding the vexation he felt at the typical treatment he had been receiving since he return from Bakinel Island with his beloved Nassu.

"You?" The old man snorted, "There is no way you would ever make it. You've already shown yourself to be weak." He mumbles to himself, "Heathen."

"So you would stop me from starting on the path to defeat Sin?" Braska asked, still his outer demeanor was calm, even cold. But in his heart of hearts he seethed. Behind his red sleeves, under the cover of the over long cloth, his fists clenched, nails digging into the palms of his hand. "Why not rid Yevon of my presence then," He offers in that same reasonable, calm voice, "let me test against Bahamut, the great dragon is known to react poorly to the unworthy. Let him decide whether I am too heathen to sacrifice to Sin."

"Go," The old man barked, "You are going to fail, even if the dragon takes a liking to you. You cannot hope to defeat Sin." He motions to the door. He tisks as he follows the young man, noting the blood on the handle of the door. With a grimace he wipes the door clean, mumbling to himself.

Braska entered into the Cloister of Trials, though it was difficult. Finding himself being thrown off the edges of the glowing pathways more than once. He completed the strange machina driven glowing labyrinth. He entered the Chamber of the Fayth with a tremble in his soul. He wished he had thought to wait and gather his two guardians before trying this. But, he could not take the time to regret his rash impulse. He walked up to the singing statue, the voice of a young boy singing all around him, the echoes of that childish voice ringing in the stone chamber.

The robed man kneeled before a statue of a little boy, not much older than his own Yuna. He fought furiously with is heart, saddened to realize that a small child has been asked to give his life to power only one of many aeons that the Summoner needed to complete the journey of pilgrimage. What would possess a young boy so to make him volunteer to become living stone? He bowed, fully to the floor, in respect for the sacrificed life he was about to petition. He dropped his forehead to the cold marble floor. Softly he intoned, "Fayth of Bevelle, Great Bahamut, I am Braska. I ask that you submit to my request, and grant me your power that I may summon you in times of need. I offer my fellowship, that you may walk the face of Spira with me as I journey to face Sin." He waited, listening to the endless song. The stone statue slowly moved, the child looking out through carved eyes.

"Why should I, Braska?" The child spoke, the song fading as the statue comes to life. "You are alone, I sense no Guardians outside the door. What summoner would travel alone?"

"I am not alone, Bahamut." Braska replied. "There are two who would walk with us. To protect this fragile vassal through the pilgrimage."

"So you leave them behind?" Asked the boy. The voice he uses is childlike, but the expressions, the manners are of great age. The spirit of this Fayth has seen many years, many summoners and it shows in his character. "Then I will ask you what I ask of all who seek me to provide the dragon to them: What will you sacrifice to defeat Sin?"

Without hesitation, Braska answers, "My life, my family, my happiness, my love, my soul. All that is me if I must." His voice is rough, the hidden passion of revenge shining through the normally calm man's eyes. "I must defeat Sin. I must bring the Calm." The last he whispers, "So that my daughter may live a long and fruitful life."

The stone child nods, somehow, though made of stone, the hood that covers the head and part of the face moves as if made of cloth. The child moves forward, to the edge of the sacred stone tablet that he normally rests on. Bahamut reached out to prostrate man in red and purple robes. "You speak with honesty, you lay open your soul without hesitation, and I can feel the fury, righteous and powerful that you hold locked inside your heart." He grasps the head of the man kneeling before him. "Take into you my spirit that you may bind with me." He sends the energy and spirit that is the Great Dragon of Bevelle into Braska. The statue and the man glowing in a mystical light that floods the entire Chamber.

Braska is simultaneously filled with ecstasy and agony. The power of the aeon floods every nerve, every cell of his body. The energy tingles through his soul, and he can feel a second presence growing in his mind. He hears the Hymn of the Fayth with his very essence. He groans and falls to the floor, writhing. With a sigh he slows, twitching, laying on the carved table of the Fayth. Spent, he has not felt this way since his beloved had passed, he entire being changed, empowered by the spirit bound to him. He basks in the feelings, realizing the glory that the Fayth grant the Summoner, the sheer power that is passed between the living statue and the humble priest.

Later, the cold of the marble floor seeping into the sweat drenched robes, Braska awakens to find himself curled fetal, near the edge of the carved table for the Fayth of Bevelle. He looks up, the statue of the boy back to its solid state. He slowly stands, surprised that he is weak in the knees. With a determined tread he walks out of the Chamber of the Fayth. Wordlessly trudging past the old priest and out into the temple proper. He is a wreck, shivering and fevered. This first bonding is powerful and he can feel the youthful spirit looking out his eyes, riding him through the living world. He stumbles along the hallways of the Temple, into the streets and down the stairs.

Soon he is before his small house, behind it he can hear Jecht's loud voice, laughing with his young daughter's own giggles adding to the cacophony. He hears a young voice in the back of his mind, "Is this your home?"

"Yes." Replies the emotionally drained man. He opens the door and looks about the living room. Gemma is no-where to be seen, the woman perhaps out back with the others. Auron's makeshift bed is still set up on the couch, the blankets open and inviting. He shuffles, weak and frail as an old man, to the abandoned couch and settles into the folds of the blankets. Long abandoned, the heat from its previous occupant is long gone, but Braska can still smell the scent of the young man as he falls into a deep slumber. He slips away, thankful that he has such friends and allies for the long journey ahead.

* * *

Time passes, as it often does in preparation for a long trip. Too fast for those trying to pack and ready themselves and too slow for those excited to leave. The last two days have been a whirlwind. Auron and Jecht spend many hours in the back yard, exercising and training with the sword. Jecht had extra homework, learning the potions that would be supplied during the trip as well as getting used to his new boots and packs. Auron regained his normal strength by the second day, pushing himself with kata and training with his great blade. Braska learned that having an Aeon is like having another person riding in your skull. Though he never would feel alone again, it was distracting. He soon found that he would have long inner dialogues with Bahamut while burning the morning toast, or leaving the water running in the bath. Yuna was hustled off to the Orphanage, crying and longing to stay home.

Soon it was a full moon night, and the three men put the little house in order for the last time. Shutting down water to the house and making it set for the many years it would be abandoned, ready for Yuna to return to it when she was of age. Braska left a note on the counter to the kitchen for his daughter, folded and in an envelope for that faithful day she would return.

Auron gained more confidence, finding that his Lord had turned the entire enterprise over to his care. He triple checked each small pack, making sure that the necessities were stocked and helping Jecht with sorting what was needed from what was frivolous. Jecht was not pleased that alcohol was considered a frivolity, except for Auron's rice wine. When the young monk wasn't looking, Jecht substituted his rolled up jacket for a bottle of wine.

They were as ready as they could be, Braska locking the door to his house one last time and hiding the key under a nearby garden rock. He turned to his two guardians, and looked at them. "Ready?" He asked with a smile. "Last chance to back out."

Auron bowed deeply to his Lord, "I would not think of it." He straightened and rolled his shoulders, the weight of his great katana balanced between his shoulder blades. He has his coat bound to his right arm, a black leather glove covering that hand. The left side of the red hatori was dropped behind his shoulder, that arm exposed but for a bracer that he had attached to his left forearm. His small pack set under the sheath of his blade, resting in the small of his back and he had shined the metal of his black boots. His chest was covered in a black leather chest piece that was covered with a sleeveless black cotton shirt. His russet eyes were shining, he felt that this was the start of his destiny. Finally filled with the sense that he was on the right path.

Jecht was as usual, bare chested. He had tied up his wild hair with his signature red headband, the ends fluttering in the wind behind him. His craggy face was tied up in a grin, the patented "Great Jecht" smirk that had graced so many of the buildings in his Zanarakand. He had his sword harness done up so the long sword was resting on his back and he had the blue and black Triple Penalty Blitzball under his left arm. His small pack was also resting in the small of his back, out of the way if they found themselves in a fight. His only concession to the whole affair was a pair of black leather boots, tied and dangling of the right side of his harness, bouncing the boots against his back. He posed for Auron, "Do I pass inspection?" He mumbles at the young man.

"Well, you should be wearing those boots. But, they are your feet, just don't ask me to waste a potion on them when you blister or stub your toes." Came the reply as Braska chuckled.

Braska was decked out in his Summoner robes, red and purple flower petals made of a durable and wear resistant silk covered him from neck to feet. A little shorter than the typical priest robes for ease of walking, you could just make out the leather combat boots the man was wearing. He had on a leather stomach covering, showing the circles and swirls of the sacred pattern of Yevon, bleached white with gold painted in the carved markings. He clutched a rod in his hand, a gift from the church after proving that he could indeed summon Bahamut. It was old, and made of a gold metal that curved upward like a pair of filigree wings. The far out tips held small gold chains, each with a tuft of red fur attached to it. His head is covered with that metal helmet, with the long feather like tail made of silver that bends down along his spine. His expression is calm, pleasant, his eyes shine with the excitement in brewing in his chest. He nods to his two Guardians and heads off for the Bevelle High Bridge.

As they walk along in the night, Jecht looks around. He gets a mischievous grin, pulling out of a pocket in his black shorts a recording sphere. He runs up ahead and starts to film the other two as they all walk along the High Bridge. He snickers a little as he triggers the recording function.

Auron, feeling the severity of the task before him looks up from his woolgathering to see a broadly grinning Jecht filming him walking. "What are you taking?" He growls at the man, rapidly losing his patience already for the buffoon.

"Well, you said it was gonna be a long trip", Jecht replied, laughter in his voice. He continues, "We'll be seein' a lotta neat things, right?" He asks, following the two as they continue to walk down the bridge, passing him as he stands there recording. "So I thought I'd record it all on this!" He announces, the grin still all over his craggy face, "To show to my Wife and Kid, Ya know?"

"This is no pleasure cruise." The taciturn warrior-monk responded as he stopped and spread his arms out, a gesture of frustration. They had just started and already this jackanapes was making a mockery of this most sacred duty.

Jecht, full of curiosity and feeling like he should capture all of the party, swings to focus on the Summoner, "Hey, Braska!" He calls out, "Ain't this suppos' to be a grand occasion?" As he speaks, Braska drops his head, shaking it in suppressed humor. Auron, still upset from the whole thing marches right past, his shoulders and back as stiff as a board in repressed agitation. "Where's the cheering fans? The crying women?" Jecht continues as Braska turns to face the recording sphere, a soft grin on his face.

"This is it." The summoner states. "Too many goodbyes…" He shakes his head again, "people think twice about leaving."

"Hmm…" Jecht mumbles, "If you say so." He rests a hand on his hip, still holding the sphere on Braska, "Well, it'd better be a lot more colorful when we come back." He states, pumping his fist in the sign for victory. He calls out loudly, announcing to the entire empty bridge, "A PARADE for BRASKA, Vanquisher of Sin!"

The only response is a deep chuckle from the Summoner, "We should go. Day will break soon." Braska turns and starts walking after Auron, who has stopped beyond the range of the camera, glaring at the thoughtless athlete. Jecht wordlessly turns off the sphere, closing out the recording. He shakes his head and stuffs the thing back in his pocket.

"Hey! Wait up!"he calls out, jogging to catch up with the other two men. He looks over at them, wondering, _Will I ever get back home? And will I ever understand these people?_

* * *

AN: Yes, I have included more scenes we are familiar with from the game. And I promise more action coming up. At least I finally have them on their way!

Thanks for the reviews, reviews are the spice of life! Keep them up!


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